Children In The Middle

I was a child in "The Middle"  at one point, that scares me tremendously.  Not that children in The Middle have anything wrong with them, other than the fact that 1/4 teenage girls in the middle have HPV, 1/5 will have a child in their teens also, most 14 year olds  in The Middle already consume more narcotics than the average struggling musician. Otherwise I think that the children are very normal, just slightly misguided. As we speak (or I type), I am hovering over my ten year old cousin who currently has a D in his 5th grade reading class. Right? If you have read this far you have passed 5th grade reading. I never really understood it, he's smart, creative and funny, with a slightly messed up home life. He should be a Pulitzer Prize winning author by now! Anyway, I just realized what exactly life in the middle does to a person. I told my cousin, I am NOT going to get you McDonald's until you have read at least three more chapters. To which he replied, "Donkey."
"What?" I asked
"I'm talking about you in my secret language, Donkey."
"Secret Language?"
"Yeah, Donkey"
"Jackass." I said, without looking up from my computer.
 He sat back for a moment, then buried his head in his book. "Lucky guess, Female Dog."
"Bitch."
"How did you know?"
"I'm not incompetent."
He paused, "What does that mean?"
"It means that you are."
"Uhhg, beaver's house."
"Damn."
"AHHH! I hate you! Opposite of duck."
" Come on,That makes absolutely no sense!"
"You're just jealous because that fancy school in Chicago didn't teach you that!"
"Shut up and read, Hillbilly!"

TO DO LIST:
Move Somewhere That Sucks
Start Blog that No One Reads
Move To :Larger City Before Procreating 

There's Always Continental

I'm not an expert flyer by any means, and after a recent experience with American Airlines, I don't know if I want to be. No, I didn't get kicked off for playing Words With Friends. That would be ridiculous! No, I had a very different experience. On a recent flight from Chicago to Cleveland, I sat beside "Ted", Ted was a businessman that travels back and forth from Chicago and Cleveland, where he is from and where his daughter goes to school. Ted was a very nice person, asking me about my Holiday plans and helping me cram my carry on into the over head compartment, except for one major flaw. Ted was incredibly intoxicated. The entire cabin was filled with the smell of hard booze. (Gag me with a spoon). If people were capable of getting contact drunks, I would have been trashed. Instead, his smell gave me a headache that (I shit you not) lasted three days.
   Ted asked me everything about myself. "Where do you live in Chicago? What do yo do in your free time? Where do you hang out? Are you in a relationship? What size shoe do you wear?" Okay, that last one I made up, but would you have been shocked. This guy was clearly a professional creep. I didn't share much information about myself, he on the other hand, went into an information purge session. He lives in Chicago and owns half the Sherwin-Williams in the Midwest. (Do you not know what Sherwin Williams is? It's no surprise, normal people go to Lowe's or Home Depot) Anyway, he went on about how that provided a very comfortable living for his Ex wife, while he was still paying off lawyers. His daughter was a money grubbing little "c**t" too.
My Brain: WHAT THE HELL?!?
   Then Ted lost track of his thoughts and showed me his watch, which looked like a Spy Kids prop, it was a massive, ugly thing with a puke green lit screen.
"Cool." I said without looking up from my copy of Skymall. He wasn't really listening to anything I said.
"Yeah," He said "I need my Blackberry on me at all times for work."
"In case of paint emergencies." I nodded
"So, when I'm flying and have to have my Blackberry off this watch syncs with my Blackberry and I can read my emails."
"So you can reply right there on your watch?"
"No, I can just read them."
"Well that sounds like a half finished technology."
"Yeah, it's great."
  He laid back in his chair and fell asleep for a moment, after about 15 minutes of peace, his heavy drunken noggin fell over onto my shoulder. 'J.H.C. Honestly, Dude?' I thought. Then after a moment of turbulence he shot up straight in his seat. I immediately began scrolling for music on my iPod.
"Hey," He said.
I began lip syncing, to a song that wasn't playing, no one is drunk enough to disturb someone listening to their iPod right? WRONG!
"HEY!" He screamed nudging me.
I pulled my headphones out, "Yeah?"
"What kind of music do you like?"
"All kinds." Short answers will tell him I'm not interested in pursuing this conversation.
"What kinds, what bands?"
"Nicki Minaj, Drake, Lil Wayne." I actually don't enjoy those musicians, at all! But this guy was probably in his early fifties and could not possibly carry on a conversation about them. Granted, I don't think I could either, but I'm young enough to identify them out of a lineup.
"I see," He said, "I like Bettie Page."
"Bettie Page wasn't a musician, she was a porn star."
"Huh?" He asked
"Nothing." I really didn't feel like getting into a confrontation with this guy and ending up on the no fly list.
"You kind of look like Bettie Page."
 (Quiver in disgust).
After an awkward beat be poked my shoulder, "You haven't really told me anything about yourself." Because, SIR, this is a flight, not a speed dating session.
Of coarse I didn't want to give him any actual information about me, this man probably already has a collage of black and white photographs of some sad woman tucked away in his closet somewhere.
So I told him, "I'm Amelia." I lived in Ohio until I was 17, then I ran away to Los Angeles where I started singing jazz. When I was 19 I began living with my boyfriend who was an actor. I told him, "I don't want to drop names, but he was a real American Beauty."
"Ohh.." He said nodding.
"Yeah, Anyway-" I told him that Mr. Spacey and I had had our outs when I was 22, and I moved to Chicago, where I have been living for the past 4 years as a Burlesque dancer and a devout leader of the Socialist Party movement."
"Wow!" He said eyes wide.
"Yep, that's me, Amelia."
  10 minutes later the flight ended, he grabbed my carry on for me and handed me his card. He told me to call him when I get back in Chicago, he would love to see me "perform" sometime.
"Will do"
  Ted's card was left on a table at Friendly's. In case you are not aware, a flight from Chicago to Cleveland last about 45 minutes, somehow Ted managed to do everything a creep should do including falling asleep on me in such a short amount of time. What a talent! If I could annoy people like that, I'd have twice as many blog postings! I am truly thankful for Ted this holiday season. The headache sucked, the conversation was creepy, but hey, I realized regardless of how insane my family actually is, there is someone out there, 100 times weirder.

   

We Say Merry Christmas Here, it's America - The Middle

Yeah, didn't I tell you?  The Middle can be a bit of a bigot sometimes. I'm apologizing now so that later I won't have to. Anyway, Christmas in The Middle is always a stup(id)endous occasion. More so ridiculous, one of those "You couldn't write this sh*t" moments, here's the thing, I'm going to. This year began with me sitting on a bar stool sipping Sangria as my Grandparents, Great Aunts and other unidentified elders stood around wrist deep in oyster juice and bread crumbs. Because in The Middle we have Oyster Fries instead of cocktail parties or white elephant exchanges.
"You know oysters are an aphrodisiac?" My Grandfather says as he breads another fistfull and leans over to plant a disgustingly tongue filled kiss on my Grandmother.
"Right, because aroused is exactly what I want to be when surrounded by my cousins." I replied.
My Grandmother sighed, "Speaking of, dear where's your date?"
"Grandma, for the third time, I didn't bring one."
"Then how did you get here?"  My Grandmother's mind is stuck somewhere between the fall of radio programming and The Mary Tyler Moore Show.
"I drove."
"Oh, Brie."
"I'm going to go get another drink."
"How many have you had.?"
I hopped off the bar stool and made my way out of the kitchen and straight for the drink table. As I pour another glass of sangria, I hear my uncle offering his  17 year-old step-daughter a tequila shot, "If you can shoot this straight without a chaser and not lose your shit I'll give you twenty bucks."
HA! That guy doesn't have twenty bucks. I thought.
 Below me I heard, "B.B!"
When I looked down it was my uncles youngest child, Aubrey, she's two. She is my protege, I put make up on her, give her all the chocolate she wants and make her listen to Ida Maria. I'll tell you right off the bat that there is nothing funnier than a toddler running around singing, "I Like You So Much Better When Your Naked!" NOTHING! Anyway, I picked her up and brought her into the kitchen with me. Another cousin of mine was introducing his new girlfriend to his mother (one of the oyster covered great aunts) and the rest of the elder council. I sat Aubrey on the counter and started putting my lipstick on her. My cousin and his girlfriend retreat and I overhear the elder council. "Should we tell him now?" "No, that's not right! Is it?"
"I don't know." "Maybe we should just let them be?"
I butt in, "What's going on?"
UNISON: "Nothin'"
My Grandmother walks up to me, "Don't put that on her, she'll look like a Jezebel!"
 "Grandma, I'm wearing it. What's wrong with them."
 "I don't think I should say anything."
" Fine don't tell me."
" Well, Curt just brought his girlfriend in."
 "She's pretty."
" She's Jan's neice, from the bank."
 "Okay?" I really didn't see the relevancy.
"Brie, Jan, Uncle Ron's daughter. Curt doesn't realize since he's been in Germany for so long. Their cousins."
 My Aunt Marsha cuts in, "Third. I think."
I start gasping for air filled with intense painful laughter. "Well, you might want to tell him before he has any of the oysters!"
 The elder's decided not to tell Curt until a later date. Because pre-marital sex does not exist in The Middle.
Aubrey followed me around like a shadow for the remainder of the evening. "Whatz za juice?"
She asked.
 "It's for adults sweetie."
"I wan zum juice."
"Okay."
I mean, what could it hurt? It was just a sip and people do it when their teething right? I have her a couple sips and a piece of orange to suck on. How did I know that Grandma had the fruit to juice to booze ratio completely off?
Fast forward past an awkward dinner (where I am again defending myself as to why I didn't bring a date), little Aubrey is asleep, facedown on the floor having face planted into her cupcake. I sat in the gift exchange circle smirking  and admiring my handy work as the elder's commented on how cute she was, "The Sleeping Angel".

The gift exchanges in The Middle are always predictable.

• 1-2 Power Washers
• 1-3 Gas Cards
• 3 Birdhouses (non negotiable) 
• 1 Jack Daniels BBQ set
• An Ohio State Trow Blanket
• 1-6 Wooden Signs with biblical scripture engraved on it. 
• 1-2 adjustable screwdriver sets
• 1 Cheesecake Factory gift card, that everyone trades because no one has been there. 
• 2 Snow men candle holders.  

After dinner everyone sits around, drinks coffee and reminisces about those who have passed in the past year.  This year, the only fatal loss was Great Grandma who died at the ripe age of 98. I loved Great Grandma Thelma with all my heart, although she was a racist and homophobe and legitimately believed that Jesus has blue eyes and fair skin she was kind. Sometimes. I honestly didn't feel that much remorse, she was a widow who missed her husband dearly, I always had a great time with her even though I was her "half colored grand-baby" and loved hearing her ridiculous tales from times no one else could remember. Also, she was at an age where she could no longer stand up on her own, her knees didn't work and she was clinically overweight so I was always the one that was run two when she was stuck in a chair or on the john. I had to run and try to pull her up, often while wearing six in heels and a cocktail dress. I hated that job. 

 Although sheltered and insane, I must say that Christmas in The Middle is a very interesting place. It's like the Twilight Zone, everyone might as well be in black and white, and you doubt that you'll ever get out. It's not perfect, but it's what I have and it's kind of funny when I think about it. 

What Exactly Is "The Middle"?

That is an excellent question, sir! "The Middle" is a sort of limbo, where I was born and bred like a prize Chicken, I AM THE 75% as I like to say. I grew up in a middle class home (NOT UPPER MIDDLE, Middle). I have one sibling, in a four bedroom house with two dogs, and two parents. I had a 3.6 in high school (enough to get into an awesome school, but not enough to get an awesome scholarship and afford said awesome school). I attended two years of  college at a state school, worked 30 hours a week, I'm 5'3 and the average size of an American woman (Hungry, Crystal Renn). I am "The Middle" and I am desperately trying to escape it. I'm from an area where people are born, have children (often to young) and then die. Sounds epic right? Well, in an attempt to better myself, I lit my ass on fire and flung out like a bottle rocket. Sooner or later I had to face the cruel light of day, I was broke, completely and udderly (get it, like a cow? Whatever.)  broke and the next two years were not going to be free, a five month job search turned out nothing and unlike Chelsea Settles, I was forced back to my homeland. Here I must survive on my own, until I finish my degree and can return to civilization. As if that isn't enough, I have chosen an impossible career field and want to make a breakthrough. If that wasn't enough, I know for a fact that my sanity (or really, what's left of it) can't survive another minute in "The Middle". So, I am trying to make the best of my time there and bring some happiness to every situation. (Or at least try for the first couple of weeks, then give up). Because if "The Middle" has taught me anything, it's to rely on television to build your expectations. I like to remember that "If you shoot for the Moon and miss, you'll still be near the stars." That's where I wanna be, among the stars, preferably Conan 'O Brian.

Learning To Laugh At The Pig Crap

After moving to the city of Chicago in July from No Man's Land to finish my college degree, I knew it was for me. There were people here! So many people, they listened to The Like, they did their hair every day, they wore  shirts under their plaid shirts (as well as buttoning them!). For the first time I walked into a restaurant and no one was wearing a camouflage baseball cap with the number 88 (the second eight of coarse drawn in Sharpie because of Dale Earnhardt's change from the #8 Budweiser Chevrolet to #88 in 2006) on it! It was amazing, I met amazing people, went to The Second City and the iO, visited landmark movie sets and passed Wrigley Field everyday. It was a dream, until I received my first tuition bill for $28,000 (one semester). Now I am heading back to NML to rent out one room, travel an hour and a half to the nearest college campus and work as a waitress at a local steakhouse, so that I can pay four grand a year and hopefully have a lucrative career in...well...anything that will pay. I am completely determined to make this interesting! What else can you do when your living in a house with two elderly folks, no tv and a pig.