Just Killin' Time Till College --- A Diablog

‘P’ is for Puppies

2009-07-14T08:10:00.000-07:00

Once again Nelsie and Patience mine their pain and bitterness to - hopefully - entertain you. Enjoy!

N: I got another rejection letter from some agent that I sent the script to. I finally followed up and he was like, “Oh yeah, we passed.” God! It makes me really angry. It makes me just want to get really successful and then be able to say to them, “See! You are so stupid. You had your chance and you missed out.”

P: Yeah, I know. I was just thinking today that it’s not enough anymore to have had breast cancer and write about it in a really great way. Do I have to be, like, twenty and have uterine cancer and breast cancer at the same time?

N: Maybe if you were a meth addict and had breast cancer.

P: Or I could have 4 breasts to begin with…

N: Ooh! That’s a good twist. No one’s done that.

P: And my litter is in danger of being orphaned.

N: It’s an Animal Planet series in a heartbeat. Forget ‘Meercat Manor’, we’ll call it ‘Patience and her Puppies’. I can see the poster. You’re there looking sort of befuddled with a bunch of puppies trying to nurse you.

P: And I’ve got my arms up with a ‘who knew?’ look on my face.

N: But you have the headscarf on because you’re going through chemo.

P: And there are all these doctors clamoring to get at me.

N: Yeah, you’re in your hospital room.

P: Or maybe I’m at the vet.

From Fruit Flies to Tennessee

2009-06-07T04:45:00.000-07:00

(We are in the Hungarian bakery near St. John the Divine. Patience gets distracted by a bug buzzing around her head.)

P: Jeez, there sure are a lot of fruit flies in here.

N: Or there’s just one fruit fly that really likes us.

(Patience goes to swat it and then stops herself.)

P: No, if it’s my father reincarnated, I don’t want to kill it.

N: You think your dad came back as a fruit fly? Very funny!

P: Yeah, if it is my father, it’s definitely a fruit fly.

(The fly buzzes her again.)

P: AGH! POP! Stop buggin’ me!

N: Well, if it’s a fruit fly he’s only got like 23 more hours to live anyway.

(Patience swats and misses and he flies off)

P: There he goes, zooming off.

N: He’s off to hobnob with some celebrity fruit fly.

P: Did I tell you that I just got my 5th rejection from a literary agent?

N: That’s not possible! Your memoir’s so funny. What did they say?

P: Something about it being a hard market to break, or nut to crack or something.

N: I’d like to give their nut a crack! I hate them!

P: I’m disappointed! But it’s with another agent so all is not lost and even if they say no -- 800 query letters, right? Isn’t that what it took that screenwriter guy to get an agent?

N: Yes! And it took Tennessee Williams 12 years to get Glass Menagerie produced.

P: (imitating an old-time agent, maybe from Brooklyn) Hey, Tennessee, listen – This whole “Glass Menagerie” thing -- it’s just not doin’ it for me. Glass? I don’t know. Maybe try something with clay or something... And menagerie? Too many syllables. I don’t want to have to reach for my dictionary, y’know?

N: (playing along as another agent) Hey! How ’bout “zoo”? The Clay Zoo! How ‘bout that? But it’s not just the title. The whole storyline needs work. There’s a crippled girl and then the guy rejects her? It’s not happy, Tenn. Mind if I call you Tenn?

P: It’s a downer. Up, Up, Up! My people want up! Try to get something going a little more like “Honey I Shrunk the Kids” and get back to me.

N: Listen Tenn, you’re a fun guy. Get a couple a cocktails in you and you’re hysterical! The stories you tell at parties – love em! We need a little more of that stuff, y’know? Snappy!

Silent Retreat

2009-04-30T15:53:00.000-07:00

N: Hey! Que pasa?

P: We haven’t talked for two days and something has to be “pasa” for me to call?!

N: I called you yesterday.

P: You really should call my home phone. I didn’t check my cell.

N: I left you a message at home, too!

P: Really? Hm…This is intriguing. I’m gonna have to subpoena the phone records from Verizon.

N: Let’s get CSI involved. I’ll call Sam Waterston.

P: I’m gonna get ‘what’s his name’ – the one who made the really bad career choice of quitting NYPD Blue after one hit season?

N: Yeah. Which is why we now refer to him as ‘what’s his name.’

P: David Caruso.

N: Right.

P: He really made a comeback, though!

N: I know. And he’s got the acting range of a screw driver.

P: Phillips head?

N: No, He’s not interesting enough to be a Phillips head. Definitely a flat head.

P: Speaking of flat heads, I’m thinking of going for a few days to this silent retreat. Wanna go with me?

N: Y’know, I would do just about anything with you – except be silent.

P: Really? I think it would be fun. We’d probably end up developing some sort of elaborate mime language.

N: You think that’s what the silent folks had in mind? You and me jumping and gesticulating while everyone else is yogic flying?

P: What the heck is Yogic flying? I’m a pretty hip gal of today and I’ve never heard of it.

N: Okay, by using the word ‘gal’ you have just proven that you are neither hip nor ‘today’.

P: Very funny. You still didn’t answer my question: What’s yogic flying?

N: It’s basically hopping but in the yoga pretzel position. My brother does it. He showed me once.

P: So did he have bruises all over his knees?

N: No, he was on his bed! He thinks he’s reached some upper level of yogini, but it’s basically just bouncing.

P: That’s crazy! So, okay, you’re not going on the retreat.

N: I just don’t understand giving up something that I love to do, that’s not bad for me, and that I’m really good at.

P: Fine. I’ll go alone. I’ll be the crazy lady doing mime alone in the corner.
Guess what? We couldn’t go to our favorite hibachi restaurant tonight. I’m finally ready to throw some money at creating family fun…

N: What happened?

P: We went there and it was closed. There was a sign in the window that said, “Because of unfortunate circumstances, we were forced to close…”

N: Really? That’s mysterious.

P: I think they must mean because of the economy.

N: I thought it was like health code violations or something; something a little more sinister.

P: Yeah… maybe. Maybe they had some trouble with a haunted cow.

N: A haunted cow?

P: Yeah, well that’s pretty sinister.

N: It is. And it wouldn’t be the first time a hibachi restaurant closed because of a haunted cow.

P: And it won’t be the last.

Easter Dia(b)logue

2009-04-12T11:21:00.000-07:00

This is the conversation Patience and I had on Easter.

Nelsie: We went out for the traditional Easter Eve dinner at Chili’s last night.

Patience: Yeah, I think they had a Chili's in Nazereth, didn’t they? It was the flag ship.

N: Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s where they had the last supper.

P: I think you’re right.

N: Rayna [my daughter] had the Triple Dipper.

P: What’s that?

N: It’s any three appetizers. Jesus used to love it. (I pretend to be the waitress.) “Would you like to try the JC Triple Dipper? It’s on special tonight, because, after all, it was the favorite of our Lord.”

P: But you have to be careful, cuz in three days it’ll rise again.

Ass-ets

2009-01-26T15:12:00.000-08:00

The following is a phone conversation that Nelsie and I had recently. She didn’t know I was recording us but our lawyers are working it out.

Patience: I’m reading an article on self-improvement and…

Nelsie: Forget it. I spent the 80s and 90s self-improving. Rebirthing, crystals, slogans…

P: It’s an inside job!

N: Easy does it!

P: Sleazy does it.

N: This is as good as I’m gettin’. I’m done.

P: Done? I thought we had to be ever vigilant! Don’t rest on our laurels, right?

N: I’m resting. Turns out laurels are quite comfy.

P: What if, instead of concentrating on what needs changing, we focus on our assets?

N: With all your bike riding you’ve got one hell of an asset.

P: I know! Is it okay to feel delighted with one’s derrière? Is that conceited?

N: No! I say embrace your behind. Which is not easy.

P: Unless you’re a contortionist.

N: How about this: we’ll list each other’s assets so we don’t invoke the sin of vanity, God forbid!

P: That’s easy! You’re amazing!

N: Thank you. (Pause)

P: You’re not going to tell me I’m amazing?

N: Feeling insecure?

P: No, actually, I’m feeling pretty good about myself. This morning I peeled an apple so that the peel came off in one curly piece.

N: One of your greatest talents.

P: It’s a gift.

N: No wonder you’re feeling cocky.

P: I’m not feeling cocky, I’m feeling a deep self-love.

N: Huh? You peel one apple and you to feel a deep self-love? It took me decades of therapy.

P: Do you know how many decades of therapy it took for me to feel good about my apple peeling?

N: How many?

P: That’s classified.

N: So, like two decades?

P: Maybe, two and a half. It’s all a weepy blur. But you, my dear: the Michael Jackson Moonwalk? Who can beat that?

N: Thank-you. I am pretty funky for a white girl.

P: It’s one of the reasons I feel so connected to you. We’re both Honky babes that know all the lyrics to “Get the Funk Outta Ma Face”

N: Separated at birth! The Moonwalking is sort of like your apple peeling. I just begin to walk backwards and the spirit moves me.

P: Another asset: you’re so spiritually connected!

N: Because I can moonwalk?

P: Yes! But there’s so much more. (Long pause)

N: Go on, I’m listening…

P: I can’t think of anything.

N: Hey, get this! I can color my own hair!

P: What?

N: I colored my hair!

P: Why?

N: I was in need of some hair-improvement and I’m broke.

P: You are MADCAP!

N: Livin’ on the edge! I had no choice. Strangers on the street were saying, “Honey, your roots!”

P: Alex Haley called you.

N: (laughing) You are funny! Another asset.

P: So, how’s the hair?

N: Pretty good.

P: Pretty good?

N: Well, it’s a teeny bit purple.

P: A teeny bit purple? Like a little bit pregnant?

N: It’s not Goth-purple. It’s slightly violet in certain lighting. But it’s so much better than it was before, which is a tribute to how desperately I was in need of some self- improvement.

P: Speaking of hair, I was impressed with your round brush blow-drying technique I saw the other day. Very fancy!

N: Thank you! If I don’t use a round brush on my hair I look like a homeless person.

P: A homeless person with purple hair.

N: But no roots! Hey – let’s add “bakes Holiday cookies with children” to your list.

P: I make one batch of cookies for my kids and I think I should get the Nobel Peace Prize.

N: I’m serious! If there’s a Noble Baking Prize, it’s yours!

P: I took pictures so when they’re in therapy, railing about what an awful mom I was, I’ll have proof to the contrary.

N: I’ve got another one: you can yodel!

P: Yodeelay-hee-hoo!

N: A Manhattan-bred WASP who can yodel; a rare breed.

P: A nutty breed. I had to resolve a past-life issue or something. Anyway, I’m a lot of fun at parties.

N: To recap: You have a lovely ass-et, you can peel an apple in one piece, you decorate sugar cookies and yodel.

P: (tearing up) It’s so good to have a friend that appreciates what’s best about me. You can Moonwalk, you can color your hair (sort of), you wield a mean round brush, and you’re spiritually connected!

N: Are we shallow?

P: Maybe, but I’m feeling pretty good!

N: So, it’s not an inside job after all!

P: Awesome! Let’s go to the Mall.

Holiday Dia(b)logue

2008-12-09T09:40:00.000-08:00

As Patience and I cleaned the kitchen for the 200th time during the Thanksgiving Day weekend, Christmas carols played in the background…

P: I’m so grateful that I’m not an undertaker. Wow! Who ever does that is made of different stuff than I am, that’s for sure! I mean, could that ever be anything but following in the family business? Like, does somebody ever go to a life coach and go, I really don’t know what to do with my life, and the coach, after gathering all their personality traits and skill sets, says, “Undertaker”.
“I just went to a life coach and it turns out I’m all about death.”
N: Now I’m dressing up dead people and I couldn’t be happier!

Jingle Bell Rock begins to play.

P: OH GOD!! Not jingle Bell Rock again!!!!
N: So many Christmas songs to mock, so little time.
P: Really, all we have to do is write 2 or 3 Christmas songs...
N: …and we'll be set for life?
P: Yeah, 101.1 AND 106.7 are doing all Christmas songs all the time and I’m ready to hang myself.
N: I’ll lend you my vacuum cleaner cord.
P: No, I have Christmas lights. I'm good.
N: No. I couldn't let you do that. I'd come and revive you.
P: You’d revive me with myrrh?
N: Yes, with frankincense and Myrrh.
P: Yeah, the three wise men - Frank, Incense and Murray. Don’t you think Mary must have been thinking, "Um. Hello?! I just gave birth. Can you please give me some space over here?!"
N: Yeah. Hey, wise men! Get a boundary and get back to me.

I spot an unrinsed bowl in the sink.

N: My husband cannot seem to put the cereal bowl in the dishwasher. Why is that so difficult? Why?
P: All you have to do is get cancer.
N: Really? That’ll do it?
P: Van totally got up to speed when I was going through treatment. He used to load the bowls face UP.
N: No!
P: Yes! So they’d be full of water when it was finished. Completely retarded. But now he’s got chops. I mean, he doesn’t load it like I load it. I’m a virtuoso in making the most of the space.
N: You are.
P: It’s a gift.
N: It is.
P: But Van cleans the kitchen now! And very well, I might add. It was totally worth losing a breast.
N: I’m considering it.
P: You could fake it.
N: Yeah, like hire some unemployed actor to be my oncologist. Have we crossed the line?
P: You crossed the line. Don’t be bringin' me over any lines!

'til, till or til?

2008-11-18T09:11:00.000-08:00

Patience: I'm nervous. This is our first blog. Are we really going to write something? Does this mean we're not doing Youtube? What about the 'I kissed a Squirrel and I liked it!' video? Do we introduce ourselves? Should we explain 'Just Killin' Time Till College"?
Nelsie: Well, let's tell them what we almost called the blog.
Patience: OK.

Names we almost used:
No time for flossing moms
Bitter Barbies (Bitter Barbie comes with a carton of Marlboros, a bottle of Nyquil and a fading 8X10 of Bitter Barbie with Wayne Newton.)
Motherhood: The glamorous Life -- not!
Separated at Birth (it was taken, we want know by whom)
Angry and bitter Moms (Nelsie: this was my favorite but Patience thought it was a little dark -- The Angry and Bitter Moms Blog kit comes with a vacuum cleaner cord to hang yourself)

Patience: See? It's a little dark.
Nelsie: Should we introduce ourselves?
Patience: Sure.
Nelsie: I'll do you and you do me.
Patience:ok (Patience didn't really say that she's too busy trying to figure out how to access our blog from her computer. So, basically I've taken over the blog. I have the keyboard and hence all the power.)
N: Patience is tall and pretty with blue eyes and auburn hair. She always wears great earrings (sometimes they're a little'young' for her) and clothes from Anthropologie.
P: Not anymore. Now my new clothes are from Joyce Leslie and Mandee. The only new thing I have from Anthropolgie is their catalogue.
N: How old is that sweater?
P: That's a personal question.
N: Anyway, she's cute and smart and funny and laughs at my jokes and we've known eachother for twenty years. Now you do me.
P: Okay- that's a floater. I'm heterosexual and am not going to DO YOU no matter how you beg.
N: But you want me, it's your secret.
P: Nelsie is, apparently, confident about her sexuality, wears nice earring that are sometimes too 'old' for her...
N: Although the rest of my wardrobe is for a 15-year-old.
P: You can carry it off. Anyhoo- she's petite, gorgeous...
N: I'm cute, you're gorgeous.
P: Are you going to let me describe you or not?
N: I guess not. I'll shut up. But you are way more than cute. You are bee-u-tee-ful. Really!
P: By the way-my hair color , well, it's a long story. let's just leave it at auburn.
N: If we're going to start talking hair color, thats a whole other blog
P: Called...."Hair today gone tomorrow."
N: Oh brother.
P: Well, I did lose my hair
N: Again with the cancer! Yes, she had cancer, lost her hair, chemo schmemo. Blah, blah blah!!
P: You're right. That's yet another blog. It's just that ...well...we've probably got their attention now. :-)
N: I'm tempted to write the internatonal sign for blow jobs. Which I believe you invented.
P: Thank-you. Okay- stand back:

:-0<=8

N: Brilliant! Your finest moment! This is a lovely note on which to close our first blog.

P and N: Stay tuned
P: Do you tune into blogs? Are we dating oursleves?
N: Once again, you want me.