Seriously, You Guys, It Wasn't My Skull
Okay, y'all. So I got home Monday evening, and the pallets? GONE. They were GONE. I almost cried. We had such big plans.
They left as mysteriously as they came. No note. Not even a post-it. They violated my pinestraw and left no token of affection. No memorabilia of love; no recollection of adoration! The pallets just used my yard. The pallets were bastard pallets.
However, I am not at all sorry for that imposition, because I must say that the comments section of the last entry was the funniest damn thing I have ever read. I was laughing out loud, reading them to Dukay, tears running down my face, while he looked at me, all, "You should be heavily medicated." Whatever. Y'all are funny.
And, hello! So, here is the news I have today, and that is YOU GUYS. My SISTER'S NAME was on television last night. We are ever so excited.
She worked on that show Teachers, and was mentioned in the credits. And her name was not on the screen for long, but it was there, and it was quicklikethis but still, her whole name! And we all screamed and jumped around yelling I SAW IT I SAW IT DID YOU SEE IT I SAW IT and I immediately called my mother who answered and she was screaming I SAW IT I SAW IT and the phone was ringing off the hook and everyone in Atlanta was apparently jumping up and down because my sister is almost famous now.
(If you would like to support my family members and also maybe see realquicklikethis my sister's name, y'all watch Teachers next week. Especially if you, I don't know. Have a Nielson box in your home. Then please watch Teachers constantly, because they need this show to be picked up, and then my sister will be almost famous-er, and maybe she will buy me an island. Any path gets me closer to owning an island is a path I will choose to take. You cannot argue with my logic here.)
So, naturally, upon seeing Ziz's name, it was immediately necessary to call her and squeal some more. This is how the squealing went:
Self: ZIZ! Your NAME was on the TELEVISION! Are you so excited?
Ziz: I actually missed it, because I was working, but, yes! For a fraction of a second, I ruled.
Self: You DO rule! Go, you. Hanging with all the famous people…
Ziz: I know!
Self: …kissing all the famous peo—
Ziz: WHOA THERE. HALT. NO. You may NOT write about my love life on your website.
Self: Who said write? I would never –
Ziz: I hear you typing, liar.
Self: Okay, yes, dammit, but there you are all big in L.A., and you call and tell me these incredible stories, and I have to just sit on all this good gossip.
Ziz: Yeah, I cry for you.
Self: SIGH. You are really testing my loyalties here, little lady.
Ziz: See, and I can do that, because I was vaguely famous for a fraction of a second.
Self: Yeah. But, dude, can’t you give me something to write about? A snippet? I just need a snippet!
Ziz: What, about a famous person?
Self: Yeah! Anything. Even just a sighting or something. I can still make nineteen paragraphs out of it, for I am wordy.
Ziz: Yeah, so I noticed. Okay, let me think. Hmm. There's...Oh!
Ziz: Okay: So, today, Mel Brooks asked to hold my hair.
Ziz: He’s really nice.
Self: How do you…what?
Ziz: What, what?
Self: “Hold your hair”?
Ziz: Yeah, it was raining.
Self: And…okay, I fail to see how that particular fact is relevant, but I mean, are we talking about the hair that is attached to your head, currently? Or do you have some alternate hair? Hair that is independent from your scalp?
Ziz: No, my hair. Attached-to-my-scalp hair.
Ziz: See, it was raining, and my hair was all frizzy when I went into the studio, and Mel Brooks walked up to me and handed me an umbrella and said, “Do you know what this is?”
Self: Aw! Mel Brooks made a funny at you!
Ziz: I know! He is adorable. And I laughed and said, yeah, I understand the concept, but I am only a lowly production assistant and they do not let me work with the big equipment yet. And then he asked to hold my hair.
Self: See, and this is where you are losing me again. “Hold your hair.”
Ziz: Like, touch it or whatever.
Ziz: Because it was all frizzy and crazy from the rain. Everyone always wants to touch my hair.
Self: And…did you let him?
Ziz: Shit, yeah! It’s Mel Brooks!
Self: Yeah, I totally would have let him touch my hair, too.
Self: Well, you let him hold your hair. Not everyone gets such special treatment.
Ziz: Very true. Like, if Tom Cruise wanted to hold my hair, I would have him arrested.
Self: So, one time Gerald McRaney held my skull.
Ziz: OH, HERE WE GO.
Ziz: Do you ever not have a story? Seriously. I can go all day telling people that Mel Brooks held my hair and everyone will just look at me, all stunned, because how do you compete with that? You can’t. Until I tell you, and OF FUCKING COURSE you’re all, well, Gerald McSomeone held my skull.
Self: McRaney! He was Major Dad!
Ziz: And he…oh yeah, I remember him. So, fine, go on and tell me, I know you're just dying to get this out. He held your skull.
Self: Yeah. Well, not mine personally, but a skull I had with me at the time.
Ziz: Wait, what the hell are you talking about? You were carrying a spare skull? Are you studying forensics on the side?
Self: No, it was—
Ziz: I’m sorry, is this phone call interrupting your important archeological dig?
Self: NO, I –
Ziz: Be honest. There’s a femur in your handbag right now. Isn’t there.
Self: SHUT UP. It was not a person skull it was a cow skull thing.
Ziz: Yeah, that’s waaaaaay more normal.
Self: No, it was like a tourist souvenir from New Mexico or whatever, and…
Ziz: Listen, you can justify this all you want, but you might as well not bother. This phone call is definitely being tapped by this point. You just went up on about seven watch lists, Miss Travels With Skull.
Self: On a plane!
Ziz: You took a skull on a plane? HEY FBI! DID YOU GET THAT? MY SISTER TOOK A SKULL ON A PLANE. ALSO I THINK SHE HATES FREEDOM.
Self: Listen, it is a long story, and it was not mine, but I did find myself in the position of flying back from New Mexico with a big old cow skull, or bull skull, or some damn thing, in a canvas sack.
Ziz: Sure thing, Georgia O’Keefe.
Self: And it was all delicate and breaky, and so I carried it with me on the plane, and put it in the overhead compartment…
Ziz: You put a fucking head in the overhead compartment? Of an airplane?
Self: Um. Yes.
Ziz: Wait, this is truly beginning to disturb me. How the fuck did you get through security with a fucking HEAD?
Self: I guess they see them a lot. It’s a big tourist item, they didn’t even look twice at my traveling head.
Ziz: This may be the most alarming thing I’ve ever heard, and yet I must hear more. Go on. So you are traveling with a skull in the overhead compartment –
Self: Yeah, only it shifted around up there during the flight, and so when I tried to get it out when we landed, I couldn’t reach it.
Ziz: Uh huh.
Self: So I’m hopping up and down and trying to get my arms back there when the man in the seat behind me goes, “Allow me,” and reaches in there and grabs the sack, and pulls it out.
Ziz: Uh huh.
Self: And it was Major Dad! And I was about to thank him when he glanced inside the sack, and did a double take, and looked at me, and then looked at the bag, and then opened the bag, and then looked at me, and I was like, “…”, and he was like, ‘Here’s your…head,” and I said, “Thank you Major Dad,” and then he got off the plane very fast.
Ziz: And went immediately to the nearest police station.
Self: Most likely. I was traveling with head.
Ziz: Huh. I really – yeah, I don’t have any response except “huh.”
Self: It’s weird, though, isn’t it? Mel Brooks held your hair. Gerald McRaney held my skull.
Ziz: Yes. What an unusual “coincidence.”
Self: We are destined to have body parts held by famous people!
Ziz: It’s like a super power we can’t control! If only we could choose the part. And the person.
Self: Yeah, I’d take “boobs” and “George Clooney.”
Ziz: “Butt” and “Kiefer Sutherland.”
Self: Sigh. Those are way better than “left ear” and “Tony Danza.”
Ziz: “Little toe” and “Steven Segal.”
Self: Oh, ew. Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES do I want these people to hold my parts.
Ziz: Well, stay out of L.A., then. I don’t think I can protect you. It is your destiny.
Self: Some help you are. Here I am, thinking you’re all important after your name was on the television for a fraction of a second.
Ziz: Shut up. I am totally famous now.
Self: Yeah, you – hey! You are!
Ziz: Damn skippy.
Ziz: Wha-- oh. NO.
Self: Will you…hold my spleen? It’s just so heavy, and –
Self: – warm, and…hello?
Ziz: (dial tone)
Self: …hee. Funny to me, though.
So, there you go. Famous people hold our stuff. It is not something we can control; it is a force of nature too strong to be reckoned with. I am hoping this ultimately leads to groping with Jude Law, but I think we all know that will never happen. No. That is not how my life works. Instead, the next time I wear a bathing suit, I'll run into a handsy Gary Busey, and will be forced to hide behind some nearby pallets until the nightmare finally -- and mercifully -- ends.