What Are The Odds

If you live in the United States and you don't live under a rock, you know that tonight's Mega Million Jackpot is up to 640 million dollars. That's a lot of money - more money than anyone I know could fathom doing anything with.

At my office someone took a pool and nearly all of us pitched in to buy tickets. We ended up with 440 in all. (Nobody has committed to checking all those numbers.) We were reminded by the organizer, who is an actuary, that the current odds mean that at least three winners of this jackpot. Depending on the final jackpot expected winnings would be between 2.5 and 4.5 millions dollars a piece, after taxes.

Really, a couple million dollars isn't enough for most of us to retire on. My winnings would go to a house, probably a reasonably priced car, my student loan and then some serious, sound investments. I would not quit my job.

The odds of one person actually winning the entire jackpot are 1 in 175.7 MILLION. Here are some things that have much better odds of happening before winning 640 million dollars in the lottery, just for shits and giggles.

- Chance of having conjoined twins: 1 in 200,000
- Chance of being attacked by a shark: 1 in 11.5 million
- Chance of being killed by falling out of a bed: 1 in 2 million
- Chance of being killed by a vending machine: 1 in 112 million (here the odds are close, though)
- Chance of dating a supermodel: 1 in 89,000
- Chance of seeing a UFO today: 1 in 3.2 million

Suffice it to say that I probably won't be changing my lifestyle anytime soon. But, you know. Here's dreaming!

On Media and Key Words

I feel like I am just waking up. This is one hundred percent literal thing. I have been unable to shake the dead tired feeling I’ve had all day. I suspect that, in an early morning stupor, I accidently took the wrong colored horse pill. One is for morning and one is for right before bed and a switch up could certainly leave me feeling like this, although I am usually very good about separating the two even while half asleep. I guess I will have to put the horse pills in two different places from now on.

Non sequitur: A lot of people have arrived at my blog lately because of “unicorns and rainbows”. Like, A LOT. Sometimes it’s “unicorns”. Sometimes it’s “rainbows”. But mostly it’s “unicorns and rainbows”. Are these people searching those key words ironically? Or is this some massive contingency of pre-teens that really are looking for great pictures of unicorns romping around on rainbows? If this is true I should really stop talking about my vagina on this blog.

Actually, strike that. Teen girls should definitely read about the problems I’ve had with my lady parts. It would scare the abstinence right into them. (Perhaps I should pitch this idea to the church?)

Related to pre-teens: I read ‘The Hunger Games’ last weekend. Actually, I spent all of Sunday reading it. It really is one of those reads that suck you in and demand that you just read one more chapter. I obeyed. Even when Husband begged that we leave the house, I agreed only on the contingency that we bring our books with us. So we walked to the coffee house down the street and read there for a couple of hours.

I wouldn’t put this novel in the same realm as ‘Harry Potter’, mainly because I never read ‘Harry Potter’ but also because I don’t think the fantasy world of spells and magicians compares well to the post-war science fiction that is ‘The Hunger Games’. It would be like comparing J.R. Tolken and Ayn Rand. The writing is just different. The themes are different. Both writers are excellent in their own right.

Anyway now I am ‘Hunger Games’ obsessed. I have read all of the reviews of the movie possible, watched all the clips of the all the trailers and B-reels. I have read the Wikipedia pages for the books. All of them. Because I HAVE TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT. By the way, if you are one of those people who doesn’t like knowing what happens next, preferring the element of surprise, DO NOT read the Wiki pages for. Those things are big fat spoiler alerts.

I want to see the movie so badly. I wanted to see the movie before I read the book, actually, which prompted me to do the reading which has me chomping at the bit to see the movie. But I can’t justify the full price cost of a ticket to a movie I already know the ending of. Maybe I can sweat it out with the teens at the matinee showing, though.

I am not going to review the book here. After I watch the movie I won’t review that either, most likely. Everyone else on the face of the planet has already weighed in on it. I think you can glean from the word “obsessed” that I enjoyed the book (will probably love the film) and I can’t wait to find out what happens next (even though I already know).

Moving on: Tonight is One Tree Hill night. It’s my guilty pleasure. Husband thinks it’s a ridiculous show but he watches anyway. This is the last season and I have watched almost every single episode. Dan is dead! But he saved Nathan! And nobody went to jail for all those homicides! It’s riveting in a special night time soaps kind of way. I am so looking forward to it.

Life Happens?

Can you hear the sound of crickets around here? I know, it’s been quiet. Do I have an excuse? No. Nothing better than “Life happens”. And also maybe that I usually sometimes absolutely never write at work and I’ve actually been busy for a change.

I like being busy at work. My job isn’t rocket science – in fact sometimes it isn’t even remotely stimulating – but it is work. A lot of what I do is rhythmic and methodical. I focus and read and sort and staple and make piles and put piles away. I filter information and put it into its proper place. I organize thing and people that need organization. It’s reassuring and safe to have things to do. I like that.

Not to mention, of course (naturally), that not having any work makes me fear for my job. Nobody wants to become redundant these days. Although I don’t suspect I am actually in fear of being let go. The other day my boss said, real off the cuff like, “Juliet’s a Lifer!”

This was meant as a compliment, I am sure. There are a lot of people in my small office that have been here for fifteen years. Several. In this day and age that’s a lot of people to have been with one company for so long. My boss, he meant that I fit in so well that I could be like them. Retire with the company.

Being a “Generation Me” baby, I was a little terrified by the thought. In fact, I think my exact thought was “Dear God I hope not.”

Not because of my company. Not even close. Just because I can’t see myself fifteen years from now at the same desk doing the same work.  I want to be a writer or an artist or something so very soul fulfilling. Could I possibly be happy shuffling and sorting and organizing fifteen years from now?

But then, the benefits are great.

I miss writing though. It’s a dear old friend that I haven’t visited much lately. I always love spending time with it but it’s a matter of getting there, sitting down with it, getting it to open up. I didn’t use to have a hard time with it. Life happens though. Things we’re passionate about take the back burner for the practical parts of life. They get sorted, put in a pile, arranged in their “proper” places.

I hate that.

I want to turn the place inside out, burn dinner and let my mind wander. I want to find a comfortable place, curl up with the cat and spend hours working out the thoughts that keep me from sleeping. I want to disorganize.

Once I get home though? I’ll probably just curl up with Husband on the couch and watch our shows. You know. Life happens.

Writing Exercise No. 4

In lieu of writing about how spring has come early or how I have started playing with yarn again or even bitching about just everything in my closet seems threadbare and needs replacing, I have decided to write - creatively that is. A friend sent me this link to some writing exercises and I thought I should stretch my mental legs a bit.

Sometimes fiction is easier to write than life. (It's certainly more often entertaining.)

I didn't bother with prompts one through three. It's supposed to be a creative exercise, right? Right.

Exercise #4You are in a waiting room (doctor's office, job interview, etc.). People are sitting more or less in a circle. Describe several of them -- focusing only on their feet! Type of shoes, cleanliness and condition of shoes, toes if they show, how they let their feet rest. Are they quiet or do the feet move? What can you tell about the person from the feet?

Ducking my head I pushed my way out of the cold and into the waiting room. Social etiquette obligated me to say hello and so I did, but I didn’t mean it. I was not hoping to make real contact with this group of people if I didn’t have to. I hadn’t asked to be here today.

Sitting down I opened my book and waited for my turn. My name wouldn’t be called - even though I was expected to be there – I would simply be asked to rise and join them behind the door. It was up to me to know who I would go in after. It was up to me to be attentive enough to know that I was next.  Without making eye contact I surveyed the room to count the pairs of shoes that came before me.

These days the shoes had more personality than the faces. I couldn’t bring myself to look at them, really, all pale and smooth and nondescript. We had been whitewashed in the worst way when The Overhaul happened. They had taken away our identities. They had taken away our individuality.

One, two, three, four, five, six. Six people in front of me. Six people lined up against four white walls, sitting on hard plastic chairs placed neatly on glowing white tiles. The white was blinding. Each bodily mass broke the luminosity with their respective tenure, colorful swaths of fabric draped over legs and torsos and capped with black wrapping of white feet and wriggling, nervous toes.

All shoes, government issued, were required to be black leather. Thinking themselves creative, The Government had decided that each profession would have a different kind of shoes. Naturally this became a certain kind of mostly unintentional casting system as now all it took was a glance to know what kind of work a person did.

Further than that, The Government's creative liberties classified each job socially as well. For instance the Secretary who sat in front of me: Her black stiletto boots had looked as uncomfortable as the probably were, the idea being that she mostly didn't need comfort in a shoe because she spent most of her time at a desk but also that she was a sex symbol. Any respect that being a secretary once contained as a profession was gone when The Government add shiny zippers and buttons to her tall leather boots. Now it was a well known fact that Secretaries were rather abused by their male counterparts. Who could respect such a whore in boots like that. Those boots were meant for bed, were they not?

To be a mother was no better. The invention of a Mother's shoe instantly reverted them to those long ago years of black and white television when women wore dresses and vacuumed the house in their high heels. The Government assumed that Mothers did not need practical shoes, that their role was to be pretty up the home and off a pleasant distraction to the Husband. The Mother in spot number three in the waiting room bounced a baby on her knee, her leg jittering nervously in her high black high heels with their think black strap and shiny silver buckle. Her shoes were unscuffed but the soles were well worn and her feet were strong inside of them, evidencing that she rarely went without. Her baby wore no shoes, naturally. If I were to look at her face, I imagined that she would give the feeling that she didn't want to be here either.

Tired of the black shoes around me and disinterested in my book I looked down at my own shoes. As a Husband I had two titles but I was still only issued the one pair of shoes, that of my profession. Unlike Mothers my role as Husband was considered unimportant. Even if I was a Father (a role which would replace my title of Husband), it was only my position as Computer Wizard that was recognized by The Government.

I was well respected. As a Computer Wizard I had a relative amount of power. Everything was linked into the computer these days, thus I was linked into everything. I was privy to certain information that Ordinary People were not privy to.

My shoes were nice. I shined them each day because I had worked hard for them. Black like all the rest they had a handsome square toe and a full, thick strap to replace the regular laces. Where lesser professions might have had Velcro on their straps, my shoes had two little buckles, securing them firmly to my feet. The clicked when I walked. People regarded my shoes with admiration.

I was proud of my shoes until recently. After my Wife died I stopped shining them. I didn't care really, I ached so much in a place I had long since forgotten I had. I had thought that work was everything, my Wife just a pleasant reward to all my hard work.

She couldn't have children. It wasn't terribly unusual these days but as The Government considered Wives who could not bear children superfluous she was sentenced to death. They promised me another Wife and while I am sure I would be issued another, I wanted my Wife. My wife. I loved her.

So I stopped shining my shoes. The Company noticed, of course and I now I was being demoted. In this waiting room, with all the others who were about to be demoted, I could have cared less. They would take away and issue me new shoes. Eventually I would get a new Wife, a young one who could give me progeny. I would be a different person after they took away my smart, buckling shoes.

I waited my turn. One by one the people who came before me were demoted. The Mother left in the shoes of a Cleaninglady, her baby taken away to be raised as something useful to society by The Orphanage. What she did to deserve that, I cannot imagine. Her shoes had been well worn.

Four, three, two... I counted down to my turn - to my new life. I was not nervous. I was a little ashamed, perhaps, about my shoes. Without my Wife, though, what would Life really be? I didn't care to find out. Perhaps I would be given the shoes of something physical and mindless like a Farmer or a Carpenter. The time had come. My turn.

The faceless Director stepped out of his office in his shiny, pointy shoes looking impatient. It was my turn.

"Next."

I said goodbye to my shoes, silently and sadly. Goodbye to my old Life.

No Blog, New Blog

I didn't have anything to say today. Sometimes, lately, I lose my words. I guess it happens to all writers at some point. We are certainly the best at internalizing.

I didn't write but Sister L did. What you may not know is that all the women in my family are writers. We're a damn talented group! We each shine in our own way. But here, go see for yourself - Sister L has a new blog!

Weeks Worth Of Posts In One!

Despite my awesome mood swings (in the traditional sense of the word), we got out of the house and enjoyed the sun this weekend. Mother nature is apparently also in need of a mood stabilizer, and while Saturday came with cold wind and a freak snow storm, Sunday brought out the warmer temperatures and sunshine. For once I agreed without argument to walk down the street with Husband; our purpose was to drool at the open houses on our block.

We live on  a street of mansions. Most of them have been portioned out into apartments – like ours – to help manage the cost of a house that size, but there are still a good lot of single family homes that very rich people can make their own. When one goes up for sale they somehow don’t stay on the market very long – I guess six hundred thousand dollars for a turn of the century stone mansion is a steal. I just don’t know these things.

This one has been on the market for longer than normal though and was having an open house. Much to the chagrin of the real estate agent, nearly everyone in the neighborhood showed up to see it (none of us were buyers, of course!)

Husband and I weren’t totally charmed. I’m normally a sucker for older construction, but I guess living in our “vintage” apartment has soured me. I thought the bones of the house were spectacular – solid wood floors in relatively good condition, a master staircase that begs you to wander down in an evening gown wearing white gloves and a quaint little elevator for the servants – but I suspect that that the house needed new electrical, plumbing and windows, not to mention the tearing down of a hundred years of bad wall paper. It was a very expensive fixer-upper.

What did have us charmed was the house next door to us. For months we’d seen a group of people going in and out filling a dumpster the size of the front lawn with the interior of the house. From floor to ceiling they had redone the whole thing.

We wanted it. (For a mere four hundred thousand dollars it could be ours!) The space was bright and clean, the floors were shiny and the bathrooms and kitchen were new. Nothing in the house slanted, the stairs were solid and all five rooms were a decent size. There was even a small back yard for the hypothetical dog.

I was sad to leave. And I may or may not be considering squatting. Perhaps I can donate a kidney?

**

I watched the Oscars this year. I haven’t watched the Academy Awards since I was in middle school and frankly, I don’t know what all the whining was about – I liked it. All this business of “Everyone was so old, the thing is outdated, Billy Crystal had too much Botox.” was a whole lot of blah blah blah to me. I love old Hollywood glamour and I think we take for granted that the average age of an actor is 21 these days. When Clarke Gable was most famous he was nearly forty years old.

Is that irrelevant to you? Perhaps that is irrelevant information. All I am saying is that the best actors tend not to be the youngest actors. Also? Didn’t the media pitch a fit last year when Anne Hathaway and James Franco hosted? I just think that you can’t make anyone happy anymore.

Lastly, I was happy that The Artist won Best Picture. I think The Academy made a good decision choosing a film that was outside of Hollywood’s comfort zone. Is it such a bad thing that they chose a piece that didn’t make a bajillion dollars at the box office? Is it so horrible that the leading man was basically unknown in the United States? Oooh, scary, Hollywood is thinking outside the box! What a problem!

Annnddd, end rant.

**

Yesterday morning I was stuck in front of someone whose windshield wipers would not stop. The cars were wet from the previous night’s rain but it was no longer raining. He had no reason to have his windshield wipers on at full speed. For some reason this annoyed the hell out of me. “Just don’t look at his car,” one might suggest, but I couldn’t stop looking. It was as if the constant swipe swipe swipe swipe of his blades was visually and mentally sucking me in, the out of place action making me crazy. I was never more pleased than when he turned off to go another direction at the red light.

Also on the list of things to make me stabby: Abbreviated stickers for vacations spots. You know, OBX for Outerbanks and CC for Cape Cod. This morning I saw LM and KKHS. What are those abbreviations for?? Little Montana? Lake Michigan (It was not Lake Michigan.)?  Perhaps those people really like Label Makers? And what about KKHS? Kansas Kitten High School? My dislike for these stickers is right up there with personalized license plates that are inside jokes and those stickers that show how many million kids and animals you have in your family. Why put it on your car. I just don’t understand.

**

This weekend’s weather promises to be not nearly as nice as last weekend. It’s March already. I can hardly believe it. They say with March it’s “In like a lion and out like a lamb” but I would really prefer if it was “In like a lamb out like a lamb”. I am tired of being cold all the time and being cooped up indoors. I can’t wait for bike rides and barbecues and hikes in the park. I feel like I have been waiting all winter for it. I am tired of hibernating.

That being said, Husband and I have very little planned for this weekend and I am just fine with that. Laundry? Maybe. Cooking? If I have to. Watching movies and cuddling on the couch with my two favorite men (Husband and Boo Radley, obviously) – most definitely.

Thank God it’s Friday, people. Thank God it’s Friday!