Once in an exercise
class I overheard a woman talking about her awesome house. She said it was the
perfect house for parties; pool, island kitchen, deck, and outdoor grill. (Yes
I was eavesdropping, I’m a writer. I might need to use your personal details in
a blog or something.) Then she went on to say that she’d never had a single party
EVER, even though she wanted to, but she was afraid she might get SUED. Sued for
having a party? Welcome to the Blue State. Sorry, that was an uncalled for jibe.
I actually can understand how a party could end in a lawsuit. I don’t let that stop me because A) As a writer I average $65 income a year and B) I want to live before I die. The last time I had a large party at my house (I may have mentioned this before) someone brought a cow. For real, yes a live cow – and no it was not invited. A game of tag suddenly morphed into someone chasing kids with a truck IN MY YARD, and I had to stop my FIL from dragging out fireworks he’d sneaked in. They had a warning label stating “must be buried in at least three feet of sand before ignition”. WOT? Lest you think this was a banjo playing redneck extravaganza, well it was, but it didn’t start out like that. The guest list was a veritable who’s who of professionals. I’d start listing the occupations of the attendees except I don’t want to be a fearmonger and make you afraid to have surgery, or fly in a plane, or space shuttle or anything.
I actually can understand how a party could end in a lawsuit. I don’t let that stop me because A) As a writer I average $65 income a year and B) I want to live before I die. The last time I had a large party at my house (I may have mentioned this before) someone brought a cow. For real, yes a live cow – and no it was not invited. A game of tag suddenly morphed into someone chasing kids with a truck IN MY YARD, and I had to stop my FIL from dragging out fireworks he’d sneaked in. They had a warning label stating “must be buried in at least three feet of sand before ignition”. WOT? Lest you think this was a banjo playing redneck extravaganza, well it was, but it didn’t start out like that. The guest list was a veritable who’s who of professionals. I’d start listing the occupations of the attendees except I don’t want to be a fearmonger and make you afraid to have surgery, or fly in a plane, or space shuttle or anything.
The fact that I don’t have parties at my house anymore has nothing to do with potential lawsuits. I just don’t want to have to CLEAN UP AFTERWARDS, or beforehand for that matter. I don’t have the perfect party house, as a matter of fact I need a disclaimer at the front door:
“Don’t Judge. People really live in this house, hard.”
Still the woman who was
afraid to have a party inspired me to make a list of what I was afraid of. Let’s
call it a Chicken Hit List, because we’re going to kill these fears. It’s
better than a bucket list. Now I’m not talking about war and pestilence, as
human beings I would imagine our fear list is all pretty much the same. I’m
talking about irrational fears. For instance I’m afraid of spiders. It’s
because I’m allergic to them, because from a purely aesthetic point of view they’re
actually beautiful. I have this thing about insects (and crustaceans for you
nit pickers). I like them. Raising the six-leggers is a part-time hobby. (Think moths, butterflies, and ladybugs.) Yet in an effort to tackle my fear of being bitten I will
annihilate any spider that scuttles into my house. Bare handed. I’m so not
kidding about that. And I will beat them until a leg or two falls off. If they’re
particularly beautiful I do apologize, but I’m not exactly sincere about it.
The second thing on my Chicken Hit List is public speaking. If I don’t have a backspace and delete key handy I get really nervous
talking. I just never know what is going to come out of my mouth. I’m not shy,
but this is simply something I’d somehow managed to avoid my entire life. The
first time I ever stood in front of a microphone was at my recent book release
party. Let’s just say by the end of the night I was singing into the microphone. I thought it was kinda beautiful, but my friend Zeus left in a big
hurry. I’m sure I’ll be nervous next time I speak publicly, but it was FUN and
I got to talk about my BOOK, and I’m actually looking forward to next time. Life
can be so good.
S. R. Karfelt w/katara dagger necklace from WOA |
The next thing on my Chicken Hit List is akin to running with scissors, which is only acceptable when going after your FIL and his fireworks. Yes, I'm going to catch up on my paperwork, my personal kryptonite.
Seriously, I highly recommend facing your dragons. They may turn out to be Smaug, but I’ll just bet you can spot his weakness when you face him. Do you want to share something from your Chicken Hit List? What dragons do you need to slay?
Paperwork and taxes are my personal Smaugs. Except for my dog right now, who is in his crate because he's turning me into Smaug with all his barking.
ReplyDeleteLoved the selfie, by the way.
So, that was Zeus. I actually thought it might be and contemplated addressing him as such, but I was too preoccupied.
ReplyDeleteMy mom has a refrigerator magnet that reads : "Dull women have immaculate homes." That sums up my approach to housework right there.
ReplyDeleteKatie - I hear that. Paperwork and taxes are mine too!
ReplyDeleteHeretic - I think I might love your Mom. Writers - who actually write - cannot possibly have immaculate homes either.