Sunday, April 03, 2011


In the old days of this blog, before I knew what I was doing (because now I know what I'm doing at all times), I used to just come on here and talk. Didn't always have a plan or a focus. Just came on the air and started rambling.

Going old-school today.

First of all, CAR ACCIDENT. (Apologies to those who have already heard about this ad nauseum on Facebook. I can think of at least 100 people who will read this and be like OH MY GOD WE KNOW. WE KNOW.) You guys can skip this one.

For the rest of you: car accident! Oh, I'm fine. But I got rear-ended last Friday...can I just pause to say that I don't enjoy the term "rear-ended"? Whenever I say it, I imagine somebody's old drunk uncle is going to come stumbling in from outside, "D'somebody say rear end?! My wife, lemme tell you, she's got a...oh. Car accident. Well, anyway, god bless her. She's got some caboose on her." There are just too many unavoidable jokes. Rear-ended! Slammed into from behind! Shhh. SHHH.

But let's get back to the horrible thing that happened to me. Yes! Very bad! Sitting there waiting to turn onto the freeway and then an unholy BANG! A Bang/Ouch combo, in fact. The driver was cooking along pretty fucking quick, judging by her crumpled car and my jolted neck.

And it was pouring rain, too!

Let me give you a moment to locate your violin.

Tune up a little. There you go.

Pardon me if I observe that you could stand to practice a little more. You've been playing how long? Oh, that's not long. That's not long at all. Why didn't you say something?

Let's enlist a professional.

Thanks for upstaging my very minor whiplash by walking out on stage on crutches, Perlman. You're supposed to be backing me up. Everything always has to be about Itzhak Perlman all the time. Well, I'm sick of it.

Anyway, that's nice. That's a nice song.

So, yes! Bang! And then instead of getting out of my car right there, I drive around the corner to pull over, hoping the driver will follow me. See, I didn't want to block the entrance to the freeway, you know? I was being considerate! Maybe that's not protocol, but hey! Plus I was confused, nay, shocked! But then the lady who hit me thought I was driving away. Thought I was pulling one of those "Get Hit and Run" moves that people who've been hurt in a car accident and aren't at fault so love to do. When I was stopped at the nearby light waiting to turn onto a safe street to pull over, she got out of her car and started yelling at me to stop. I yelled back and pointed to where I was pulling over.

So we pull over and we get out and she's berating me for not staying where we were. And I'm yelling at her "PARDON ME FOR NOT THINKING STRAIGHT AFTER YOU'D JUST SLAMMED INTO MY CAR!" And she keeps at it, "We should have stayed there!" And I'm yelling, "WELL I CAN'T EXACTLY TURN BACK TIME, NOW, CAN I?!" And really, really, really? You're scolding me?

Did I say it was raining? It was raining. The hems of my pants, they were all soaked. Is this the saddest thing you've ever read? This is like Old Yeller.

Police came. It's so nice to be the not-at-fault one. Medics came, but that was gilding the lily. But then I did drive myself to the hospital, due to escalating ouch. I'd packed coffee and breakfast for my rehearsal (to which I'd been headed) and lounged in the E.R. watching t.v. while I waited to get x-rayed. Sent home after a couple of hours with a prescription for Vicodin. Sweet.

And then it was a total free ride from there. Home safe, sore, medicated. Husband watching kids, pampering me. Drama queen goes on Facebook and gets petted by a thousand mommies and daddies. Spacing out on pain meds, watching Downton Abbey on Netflix. Yes, there's a little back pain, and a teeny bit of whiplash, but I don't have to wear one of those collars that makes you look like the cranky landlord on the 70's sitcom who's gotten his hilariously undignified comeuppance.

For a crappy car accident, it's all pretty first-class. I'd say I'm not complaining, but that's because I've already complained at exhaustive length, as Facebook can testify.

Let's see, what else? I want there to be something else. I don't want this to just be about that. I set up the expectation that there would be more.

Well, let's see. I'm writing a book. Good, that's good, I like this buried down here after everything else. Not too much with the fanfare. I thought about not saying anything, but I imagine this might take me a very long time, and maybe sometimes I want to talk about it.

The book's a memoir, with a family/philosophical angle. My dad's side of the family, particularly my grandmother's clan and ancestors, were some awfully unusual cats. There's some clairvoyance that runs through the female line, ostensibly down to me. I'm looking into this, as it were. And my parents/grandparents/great-grandparents were Theosophists, which is a very particular and peculiar thing to be. And so I'm reacting to that, as well. My granny, in particular, was a looming figure. Well-known clairvoyant. Difficult person. Super intimidating. And I'm learning about my great-grandmother, who was also clairvoyant, but went about things in a very different way from her daughter.

Anyway. Yes. It's nice to say this out loud, even if I'm very early on in the process. I think I need to invent some reason that I have to finish it in a timely manner. I think my own steam might not be steamy enough. I think I need an artificial deadline. Somebody give me one.

Is there anything else? Of course there is. My god. I'm alive, after all. That wasn't my whole autobiography. But is there anything else I feel like talking about today? No. This post was to be entitled "hodgepodge". However, two topics do not a hodgepodge make. Ergo, hodgepod. But I'll come back very soon and tell you about the play I'm rehearsing, which opens next Friday. How about I do that before next Friday? Yes. Good.

See you then. DRIVE SAFELY. (tiny violin)


Tricia said...

so sorry to hear about car wreck. Hope the pain doesn't interfere with rehearsal for that kick-ass-sounding play you're working on. (And which I fear I will be not be able to see due to giving birth sometime in the next couple of weeks. Boo.)

Anonymous said...

Am very sorry to hear about the car wreck! How frightening! And then how infuriating, to be yelled at by the person who hit you.

I am excited to hear about the book! It sounds quite fascinating (although I admit to mis-reading "My dad's side of the family HAD some awfully unusual cats" at first; no less interested in the subject matter either way!) and like a wonderful way to get to know your ancestors. Can't wait to hear more about it!

Unknown said...

I'm reading about your car accident and finding myself jealous.
Yes, jealous.
My accident did not include such frippery as Vicodin, spousal pampering and Downton Abbey ( which I always, always have to check to see if I typed Downtown Abbey,which makes me think of that Petula Clark song, and which makes me want to re-write Downton Abbey's themesong )
and yelly old ladies, annoying as they may be, who stay rather than flee the scene of the motherfuckin' crime.
No, I just can't have nice things.

I hope you are OK.
Much luck on the book.
Be careful on those mean streets.

And one more thing...I love this place.


Tina Rowley said...

Tricia: Thanks on all fronts, my dear, and HURRAY, BABY! May everything go just as smoothly as possible. Follow the usual trend, second labor/birth situation! Upward and easierward! Yay for you, bursting mama.

Mrs. Doctor: What a delightful find you are! I'm so enjoying your blog. Oh, internet. You've done it again! (And thank you!)

Rene: Oh, my goodness, the same goes for you. And how. I'm so glad you've come to hang around. And I hope your next accident is really rewarding.

Anonymous said...

It's good to hear that the accident wasn't serious. Some people just shouldn't be allowed to be in control of two-ton objects.

Good luck with your book. I imagine the self-discovery that happens during a memoir, if it's done right, to be on par with years of therapy (not implying that it's needed!). May all your epiphanies be good ones! And I wish you all any writer ever truly hopes for: I wish you Words.

Tina Rowley said...

I concur, Anonymous. And that does seem to the case, potentially, with the old memoir. I appreciate your good wishes, and you've really hit the nail square on the head with that last word. Thank you!

Suzanne Morrison said...

I want to read your memoir TODAY! But since I can't, I'm going to go back and re-read your whole blog, because you, my dear, are effing hysterical. Hope the Vicodin is working its magic!

Kathy said...

It's a wonder to me how there aren't more accidents happening these days. Like, for instance, I drive over a four lane bridge to work. There is no divider between the sets of lanes. I always think "You know, if someone wasn't paying attention and just for a second drifted over to my lane by a mere one foot, I'm dead.

OK, so onto other happier matters. You're writing a book. That's good. Very good. Because now that I've discovered you very recently, I want to read more and more and I'm pleased to hear it's getting done. I don't care how long it takes you. I will wait for it.

@Rene, I curse you for putting Petula Clark in my head. I was part of a musical act in grade school where we girls sung that song, dressed quite like hookers, but the kind who wear long white gloves. I was 12 at the time and the seamstress who measured me for my satin sleeveless trampy outfit announced to everyone in the room "Oh, my. Kathy's getting her breasts in early!" I'm 45 now and have never recovered from that.

Charlie said...

I hope you're recovering nicely from what was clearly the most harrowing experience EVAR that didn't involve some sort of firearms or hostage negotiation or alien abduction.

I say, get the neck collar and milk that shit through a few breakfasts in bed and flower arrangements. You only whiplash once. (Or so we hope.)

Scott A said...

Your grandmother was in the klan? White pow- oh, clan with a 'c'. Nevermind.

Stephani said...

Well, I already was very fond of Meg Wood in an internetty sort of way, but now I love her more for leading me to your place! This is the kind of writing I could read all day(and probably will, so don't be alarmed).

Eve said...

Zippadeedohallelujah! I haven't popped in here for a while, and therefore, was treated to 2 posts!
Tina, I love you. It's not a crush, it's been too long. Let's get a dog together.
I am beyond thrilled that you are writing a book. Knowing that it is out there.. growing and developing.. is blowing my hair back in such a big way, that I may need a neck brace.


Tina Rowley said...

Hello, everyone: How do we feel about me responding five months later to these comments? Is that too late, do you think? Oh, well! Too late to be too late because here I go.

Suzanne: Yes, well, I'm re-reading Yoga Bitch because you keep being on book tour and not
giving me your second book to read. So we all have our crosses to bear. Also, you haven't moved in yet. I'm starting to think I should maybe close the front door. Call when the U-Haul is arriving.(People, click on that link and buy and read Suzanne's fantastic book. So funny and moving.)

Kathy: It's best not to think too hard about how we hurtle down the road in these little metal boxes. It's like a hot dog. Don't read the ingredient list. We'd better just eat it or take the bus. And that another person out there cares that I'm writing this book is so heartening. I think I could sell three! (Three million, people from the publishing world. Three million.)

Charlie: I've been riding that whiplash train as far as it would take me. Few more stops left before they throw me out of a moving carriage.

Scott: Congratulations! Yours is the most challenging comment to banter back with. I want you to know I tried a few iterations, but I had to fire them because of poor performance.

Stephani: Yay! I'm so glad that my dear Meg led you here. And that's a wonderful compliment. Thank you.

Eve: I love you, too. It's on. We're doing it. Let's get a Samoyed. But one with no fur and no saliva because I'm allergic. But he'll look weird, so let's say one with fake fur. I insist that he not be a stuffed animal, though. A real Samoyed with fake fur and no saliva is NOT THAT HARD TO FIND.