me and a phone booth
Originally uploaded by treefrog girl.
Setting:
Starbucks on a street tucked between Regent Street and Savile Row.
Characters:
Stuart: A reluctant Englishman
Nicole: A reluctant American
Stuart and Nicole sit near the window people watching.
Nicole: Oh look. Americans.
Stuart: (Turns and looks.) How can you tell?
Nicole: They’re taking pictures of themselves in a phone box.
Stuart: Like you did when you first arrived?
Nicole: Exactly.
Walking in the common, I saw a woman with two dachshunds bounding around her. A large dog that looked like mix of an Irish Setter and a Golden Retriever saw them too and loped over. One of the little dogs held back from walking with his owner to chat with the large dog. They did the obligatory sniffing of noses and tails then the little dog rolled over on his back, while the large dog sniffed some more. They needed to get a doggy room.
I saw two women watching this little tet-a-tet as well. One of them called out, “Humphrey!”
The unfortunately named Humphrey looked up at his owner then went back to licking Herr Dachshund. The woman looked around for her partner, “Hon? Can you call Humphrey? The sausage dog s’being violated.”
I curse. I like to throw out the occasional f-bomb. I am a bit better now, but I still do it.
Not sure why. When I was a kid and when my mom was angry, she was so very talented at stringing words together that even David Mamet hadn’t thought of. Now she says ‘fetch’ and ’shoot’ which is good because her blood pressure is much lower and she is generally a much happier person, which isn’t due to her not swearing. I think it is due to the fact that she has been retired for over ten years.
I’m not an angry swearer. I mean, I do swear when angry, but I am more of a punctuation swearer.
Like when Stu forgot the keys and I said, “You gotta be fucking kidding me.” If I had said, “You gotta be kidding me” it just isn’t the same.
So I curse.
Fucking sue me.
The Victoria & Albert is doing an exhibition called: The Golden Age of Couture Paris and London 1947- 1957.
Do you think they would be upset if I stole one or two things?
I have the unfortunate habit of smiling when I hear something really terrible. I don’t think the horrible news is funny and I’m not amused but I have this involuntary pull up of my lips.
Friend: My parents were both diagnosed with cancer this morning.
Me: (Smile. Quickly cover face with hands) Oh, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry.
Friend: Why are you smiling. It’s not funny.
Me: (Still smiling. Keep one hand over bottom part of face) I know! It’s terrible.
Friend: They have less than six months to live.
Me: (Suck in lips. Shake my head hoping the motion will kill the smile twitch) God. I’m sorry, sorry. . .
I am exaggerating (slightly).
Because things are always more fun when there is a contest, my old friend Kevin is joining me in weight loss attempts and will be sharing Monday weigh-in numbers as well. He’s in New York so it will few hours behind mine.
He says, “Okay, here is where things are at. As of Monday, I weighed 203.5 pounds. Which with my height, makes me .5 pounds away from being officially obese. Anything I write on this matter is fair game for your blog, should you choose to do so. Most loss by percentage by New Year’s is the winner.”
Would you like to join us? If yes, email me at Nicole at travelingtreefrog dot com.
I will sometimes read the horoscopes of people that I am actively not speaking to and am always a little disappointed that there isn’t a blurb telling that specific person how crap they are as a human being and that they really should just give it all up and throw themselves in front of a train.
I love kids but am very happy that I don’t have them. One of my scripts I wrote a million years ago had a character that said, “We don’t want kids. We want dogs.”
I don’t know how some parents, especially in my industry do it. I love that I am able to go out after work and not stress taking care of a family or dealing with shrieking temper tantrums.
I’m happy being the cool Aunt- especially given that my nephews mothers are. . . sigh. . . shall we say, lacking certain skills? My stepfather once said, “Nicole is the only one that should have had kids.” I adore my nephews and the lunch dates out with them are some of my favourite memories.
When I was 20 and was first expressing the crazy thought that I would not have kids, a guy I worked with at the Utah Shakespearean Festival (Hey. Don’t laugh. It’s won a Tony) said, “You have to have kids Nicole. Smart people never breed.”
I dated him a few years later for a second probably because of that comment. (Telling me I’m pretty may make me like you, but tell me I am smart, I’ll have sex with you. I won’t say what I will do if you tell me I’m funny.)
So kids. Yeah.
One of my favourite bits from the David Mamet film State and Main is:
Joseph Turner White: You like kids?
Ann Black: Never saw the point of ‘em.
Joseph Turner White: Me neither.
So. Yeah. Kids, I don’t want kids.
Stuart doesn’t want kids.
I don’t want kids with Stuart.
I usually lie when making small talk with the mini cab drivers that drive me to the airport. 99.9 % of the time they are Muslim men that are married with children and when they ask if I have kids I say no and when they follow up with, “Someday?” I lie and I say, “Someday! Sure!”
Telling them I don’t want kids would just be too uncomfortable.
I don’t want kids. People know that about me. It isn’t new.
What you don’t know about me is that sometimes, I’m not sure why, I cry that I will never have a little hand reach out for me in the night. That I will never have a little soul call me Mommy or Mum or scream how much they hate me. That I will never say, “No, I can’t come out for drinks because someone is at home needing me.”
But I don’t want kids.
Really.
Honestly.
I have no interest in them.
(. . .Anyone who would have had a class with Davey would have known what I am doing. Those of you that have not had the opportunity are forgiven from not understanding that I am feeing rather sad. Actually, if I may be allowed. . . I am melancholy. But this shall pass. . . I am a verb. I will explain that later.
At some point.
Don’t worry.)
I am deeply ashamed about this. I really ought to go see someone about it. I can’t believe I am writing these words. I will regret this one day. . .
When I am alone. Maybe driving, usually driving. If I am listening to the radio. . . and an Air Supply song comes on? I will. . .
Oh god.
Please don’t judge me.
I will. . .
I will-
I,I,I. . .willsingalongandtheworstpartisIknowallthewords.
I feel so dirty.
I can’t remember where, but a blog I saw a few months ago that did a 100 facts about themselves and I thought I would steal it.
Not sure what I will say, how long it will take or if it will be the truth-truth. My mother after all reads this. . .
Any donated funds are not tax deductable and will most likely be used to purchase something that is very bad for her.
Design by Eliza of Weblog Design Studios
All words © Nicole Thomas unless otherwise credited.
Not that I think that anyone would be silly enough to steal my ramblings, but in case you may be thinking about it. . . the very act of my writing this means that I own the copyright. Really. Look it up.
So, please don't plagiarize. It just ain't cool. And what I say just isn't that interesting. Trust me. Most of my friends don't even read this.
That being said, I do subscribe to the T.S. Eliot philosophy of "Immature poets borrow, mature poets steal." There is a difference between Stealing and stealing. . . This is not to say that I am mature. If anything. . . I'm rambling aren't I? That's what I do. I ramble. So, yeah. I'll shut up now.
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