Lovely Day

In my dreams, here is a day in my life; the life I built from my own desires, the life I envision as my happy ending. A day in a life that only exists inside my head for now, but still a day in a life that the rest of the world can't steal from me....

Season - Fall (September 25th maybe)

Location - Anywhere I want. A place I have rooted myself for reasons other than my own.

With - Anyone who wants to join me.

No worries, no life, just living....

9 a.m. - Wake up. Don't hit the snooze, not even once. This might be sleeping in to some of you, but not so much. It's waking up early for me. I prefer the night time, but my perfect day would involve functioning with the rest of the world. It's more productive. Make coffee. Good coffee from far away. Sip coffee in the little chair next to the kitchen window, this way I can peek out periodically at all the people on the street while I flip through a magazine gathering makeup tips and new ways to accessorize. Refill coffee. Check email. Read police reports from my hometown on the internet. Call Shayna and tell her about the police reports.

10 a.m. - Shower. Shave my legs without getting razor burn, silky for once. Make myself presentable. And new boots, I'd have a nice new pair of boots to put on. Flat ones that don't hurt my feet, but still look really cute.

11:30 a.m. - My friend comes over. I don't know who, but a friend. I show the friend something impressive that he/she has never seen before. Something we're both into, but now I seem more well-informed. I'm not snotty about it though, I just smile. That's why the friend likes me. Then the friend and I go have lunch together at a place that's not too quiet, but not too crowded. A nice balance; a dense menagerie of sounds in the background so nobody can listen in on our conversation, but still our elbows aren't knocking into the stranger next to us as we try to cut our food. I have melt in my mouth halibut. After our meal, my friend orders a really good dessert that I take a bite of. Pecan pie maybe.

1-3 p.m. - I run some errands with no hurried sense of urgency, but still very purposefully. I don't know what I'm doing, but I accomplish all kinds of little odds and ends and I feel good. Maybe I go to FedEx and mail a gift, or maybe I stop by someone's work and drop off a CD that I burned for him/her. I pay the rent. Or I go to AT&T and get a new phone charger because I left mine at a hotel in Prague last week. Then I perform some sort of work-related tasks that involve a fax machine and one of those big yellow envelopes. I pick up some milk and laundry detergent, then I stop and get a pair of sunglasses from a street vendor because I left mine on a nightstand, the one in Prague (I had to leave there in a hurry). From the street vendor, I get totally sidetracked and lured into a bakery with awesome bread that I bring home and share with my roommate and/or boyfriend and/or old lady that lives downstairs. Whoever it is has had an incredibly long day and really likes the bread. Ms. Lori Ann, at your service.

Around 3:30 p.m. - I return a whole bunch of phone calls that I'd been avoiding. In real life I'm awful at picking up the phone, so in my dreams I change that about myself. I spend a good hour catching up with those I love. Everyone's surprised to hear from me and I make promises to keep in closer touch from now on.

5 p.m. - I go take an evening class of some sort. It's not for any type of credit or degree so there's no pressure, I'm just taking it because I like it. It breaks up my day and delivers me a sense of enrichment. I'm not sure what kind of class it is, but it's not pottery. I don't know why I think people who take pottery classes are annoying, I just do. Maybe it's a writing seminar or a cooking workshop. Or an audio/video class. Class ends early so I can go grab a sandwich or a piece of pizza. I eat it on the go, while walking down the street or driving in my car. And I don't even get any of it on my shirt.

7 p.m. - Go to the liquor store. Buy everything. Yes, that's right. It's 7 o'clock and I don't know where the hell I am, but I'm making cocktails for everyone in the room. And it's a real pretty room, ornate but inviting, perfectly lit for demure decadence, with velvet couches that are deep red, and windows that start at the Rosewood flooring and end no sooner than they meet the ceiling that envelops our modern day masquerade. And there's a dancefloor where people mingle and flirt before they take eachother's hands to dance. We laugh, we tell stories, we reminisce, we embolden eachother's thoughts to blossom. We are a symphony of warmth; affectionate gestures, ingratiating glances, unspoken camaraderie, a community with no strings attached. We don't need strings to keep us together. And it brings me great joy to provide all these people with such tasty spirits, my own personal recipes of grandeur, ones that dissolve your delusions of inhibition and heighten your sense of why you're here in the first place. Midori and Dewar's and Ketel, OH MY! Don't worry, Dorothy, I've got it all under control. And I swear we'll be good. You and Toto are more than welcome to join us.

12 a.m. - I get a phone call a from a special someone. Maybe we've known eachother since we were young, or since we were both crazy, or since we were just friends. Or maybe we just met last week in Prague. And maybe one day he'll fondly refer to me as the one he let slip away, but not today. Today he's got me in the palm of his hand. And it's exactly where I want to be. After an endearing exchange of subtle familiarities, the kind that free you from the agitation of everyday bullshit, we meet on the corner of a quaint little street that has lots of grass. He takes me to a spot he found with me in mind, and when we get there it's just the two of us, the only two that matter. There's a bare cement wall that runs along the whole of this special spot, the wall is perfect for tonight. The room is dark, aside from the twilight peeking through open windows, and a light breeze intensifies the sweetness of our one single silhouette. And as we curl up in a corner, the flippant slipping sound of a film projector is quickly drowned out by a scene from my favorite movie, now playing against the backdrop of that perfect cement wall, the one seemingly created just for this.

At the end of the day I surrender to the delicate oblivion of days to come. I welcome the abyss of the future. I dismiss bittersweet contingencies that confide, "There may never be another day such as this."

Trapper Keeper

"An elephant never forgets."

I don't know where that phrase comes from, I looked it up and I didn't find too much. But whatever its origins, it seems to describe my memory to a T. And shortly after it was brought to my attention that I remember just about everything under the sun, my memory started being referred to as the "Trapper Keeper." Remember those? 4th Grade is the motherfucking place to be.

Aside from the obvious Birthday's and things like that, here are some examples of bits and pieces that might get filed in the Trapper Keeper -

If you like white clam chowder, but hate the red, I'll remember. And I'll even remember where we were when you told me about this dislike for red clam chowder.

If you like Polish sausage, the Trapper Keeper will contain information as to what you like on it. Mustard, relish, onions, on French bread. Or no relish, just onions, on a bun. And if you don't like Polish sausage at all, the Trapper Keeper will say, "No, Lori..HOTDOGS."

If you tell me that the house you grew up in had a huge yard, the Trapper Keeper will mention it when we pass by a similar yard of the same caliber.

If SWV was playing the first time you had sex in 1994, my folder/notebook combo will bring it to my attention the next time I hear one of their 2 hits. It will say to me, "Mary Kleinenburg's basement couch. 1994," in a Rainman kind of voice.

The Trapper Keeper knows what your first car was.

If your Dad had a heart attack while shoveling snow one year, the sentiment of this fact will get put into the Trapper Keeper's vault and I'll probably never ask you to shovel snow. I'll want to ask you to, but the Trapper Keeper won't allow it.

If you hate the color green, I'll know, and I'll remember why you hate it...like because your Mom painted your room that color when you were little, and as you got older nothing matched with it or something.

If you think that the color orange washes you out, I'll get out the trusty old Trapper Keeper if I'm ever shirt shopping for you.

If I happen to come over on a Tuesday and you're doing laundry, I'll make a Trapper Keeper note that Tuesday's laundry day.

If we get in a cab one day and you forget your phone on the seat, from then on, the Trapper Keeper will check that there is no phone on the seat when we get out of a cab together.

I'll remember your cell phone provider because of that one time you were so pissed about sitting on hold for an hour with Verizon.

If your coffee pot broke, it's because of the Trapper Keeper that I will bring you a cup of coffee when I come over later today. If your Birthday rolls around and you still haven't replaced the Bunn Drip-o-matic, PA-DOW with the Trapper Keeper! New coffee pot.

This absorption of useless information is not a conscious effort by any means. I'm pretty sure it stems from the simple fact that I like to listen and watch people. I like to observe, even if the only purpose of my observation is to form a negative opinion of you (sorry, I'm workin' on that). I just can't seem to not pay attention to people and their ways. And this little "talent" is not at all selective, meaning that even if I don't really care about you, even when I'm pretty indifferent in terms of your general well-being, I'll still soak up every detail you choose to divulge. And sometimes it comes in handy, but other times it just makes me look like a compulsive psycho.

It comes in handy when I'm buying gifts. For real, I buy awesome gifts. Not necessarily because they're expensive or high end. But because, like I said, the Trapper Keeper knows you, man! It knows what you need, knows what you want, knows what you hate. Don't fight it, remember the coffee pot?!

Or let's say I'm lost in a neighborhood I'm unfamiliar with. The Trapper Keeper will guide me with something like this, "Ok, last time you were here some girl asked you for a lighter on this corner. And she had on this dope jacket; navy, gold buttons up the side, falling just above the knee, cute belt. And after you lit her cigarette you know cute jacket girl went straight for a few blocks, and you know that you went straight for a few blocks too because if you hadn't followed her you wouldn't have seen that the cute jacket even had an awesome slit up the back." And now I remember which direction to travel. Thanks, Trapper Keeper!

It makes me look like a compulsive psycho when I'm coming over to your house, you offer me directions, and I say, "No, I remember where you live." Even though I've only been over to your place once, and it was probably close to a year ago, and you might not even remember that I was at your Birthday party in the first place. Damn you, Trapper Keeper! Why must you keep a record of every house you visit? I know you didn't do it on purpose, but now I might look crazy. And I didn't think of it before I spoke, but technically that person never gave me their address; I just remembered it from last time, AND NOW I LOOK LIKE A STALKER. Trapper Keeper, you're a real asshole sometimes, ya know? Perhaps this time you've gone too far.

Or let's pretend your girlfriend and I have a conversation about what to get you for Christmas, and I tell her that just the other day you said you wanted a subscription to "Pro Football Weekly." And then instead she signs you up to receive "Football Digest." Trapper Keeper will take note of the oversight and hold it against her, forever thinking of her as "the girl who didn't care enough to get it right." I don't want to think badly of your girlfriend. What if you marry her? Just forget about it, Trapper..it's the thought that counts. Sometimes I have to fight the Keeper.

So you see, this office supply of a memory device has a mind all its own. Please don't hold it against me. I swear, I'm not a stalker and I think your girlfriend's really great.

And at the same time, if my memory is somehow working in your favor, you probably shouldn't take that too personally either. I might not even like you all that much, it is just the nature of this thoughtful Trapper Keeper beast. (Just kidding, I love you)

Urban Dictionary

I looked up my name on urbandictionary.com (which is not a site to be taken seriously or looked to for accuracy, but still mildly amusing), and here's what I came across -

Lori -

"1). The most wonderful person in the world. Kind, sweet, loving, caring, gentle. Perfect in every way. The one you love for all your life."

I don't know about the most wonderful person in the world, but "The one you love for all your life?" I'll take it. And despite the subtle cynicism in a lot of these posts, I am, in fact, a gentle soul. ;)

"2). Crazy hot girl. Beautiful, smart and funny; Lori possesses attributes absent in 99.9% of women. Truly a lucky find. Plus she rocks."

Alright, I definitely wouldn't call myself "crazy hot." But the rest of that is RIGHT ON POINT. I'm really glad that it's now public information on such a respected forum, and no longer just the opinion of my dog.

"3). The most wonderful drug in the world, better known as Hydrocodone or lortab. Taking the pill may cause a sense of euphoria and well being."

Unfortunately, I've been exposed to my fair share of narcotics, and yet I've never heard of Hydrocodone referred to as a Lortab. But according to this entry in Wikipedia, the information seems to be correct. So that was new to me, thanks Urban Dictionary.

And now we're moving on to the last definition of Lori. Keep in mind that I had a Snickers bar in my hand as I read this...

"4). Fat disgusting hippo, a young adult with unhuman eating habits."

Ooops. How ya like me now, boys? Someone must have been real pissed when they conjured up that one, eh? You win some, you lose some.