Heather L. Barmore
No Pasa Nada Heather Barmore Elsewhere About
Heather L. Barmore
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Heather Barmore
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    Change In Action at Babble Voices


    Incoherent Ramblings

    “Some persons are very decisive when it comes to avoiding decisions.” ~Brendan Francis

    At around 3 AM, I woke up in a panic because I thought I made a poor decision. The thing is that it wasn’t even a MAJOR life altering Audrey Raines will die, kind of decision, nevertheless I was up for a good 20 minutes trying to figure out what I wanted to do over the next three and a half years. It’s not like three and a half years is a particularly long time, but by the end of that time span I will be 25. Then I go and think back to my youth (which was like 2 years ago) and remember how I used to picture my life at 25. Married. With Children. Then I laugh maniacally because that’s the dumbest shit ever and go back to my dream of being chased around Crossgates Mall by some maniac.

    Dreams about Crossgates make me homesick but not so homesick that I’m now uber-excited to head up there, but excited enough to say “whoot Albany” and do a little jig. But then again, I kind of have to go home so that my busted ass disgusting car can get fixed, because the duct tape isn’t working out too well. Which leads me to call my mother to tell her that I called her mechanic (it’s a mechanic on wheels that comes to you whenever and it’s the best thing since sliced bread), and she asks how I got his number and I’m all like “This fabulous thing called the INTERNET”.

    Moving on now to dealerships and why I hate them and now I have to (maybe) go to one to get my fucking car fixed. My last foray into car dealerships ended with me leaving abruptly and the geeky car salesman guy, who was terrible beyond comprehension, tried to hit on my friend. After I did the abrupt leaving because I hated the stupid Xterra anyway and the RAV 4 was so pretty, he a) followed me over to the next dealership (they were on the same property) and b) called me twice thereafter to see if I gave my friend his card and whether or not she was going to call him. So now I just don’t do car dealerships, lest I’m trying to find a date WHO STILL LIVES WITH HIS MOTHER and couldn’t sell a car to save his life.

    The End.

    Oh, by the way, I’m now completely convinced that Paula Abdul was dropped on her head a few dozen times thereby rendering her mildly retarded and attracted to every male idol contestant ever, specifically those who sing Train horribly and have disgustingly long hair.

    A Mother's Love

    “Some mothers are kissing mothers and some are scolding mothers, but it is love just the same, and most mothers kiss and scold together.” ~Pearl S. Buck

    Two years ago, I took it upon myself to surprise my mother for Easter. I drove the seven hours to Albany, with only my father knowing, and arrived home around 11:30 PM. In my haste and excitement I busted my ass running up our front steps. When I say “busted my ass” I mean I tripped – while on the phone with my mother – and fell up the steps, cutting my elbow, knee, my hand and two toes. When I rang the doorbell, practically in tears, my mother spent a good 5 minutes trying to figure out why the doorbell was echoing on the phone. I told her she was having hallucinations and to open the damn door. She saw me and was happy and exclaimed that there was no where for me to sleep. The hell?

    I mean, although I spent the first few days of my life in an honest to God drawer, I had a perfectly acceptable bedroom that had been painted in the Guilderland colors with yellow furniture for accents (It looks cool, I swear). “What do you mean I don’t have a place to sleep?” was the incredulous response. “Well G took your room over, because his is a mess and the basement is a mess, so there’s no place for you to sleep.” She went on to shove the knife further into my tired and busted ass heart to say; “It’s not like you live here anymore Heather Lynn. You have your own apartment and I wasn’t expecting you.” Ouch. This reminds me of the time that she told me – quite recently actually – that she was debating what to do with my bedroom now that I don’t live there anymore.

    Fine, fully functional adult with her own apartment, that I understand, but the woman has pretty much been planning my eventual departure and most likely has drapes picked out. I bet ugly ass drapes too that are made out of kente cloth. Ok, I’m lying about the kente cloth part, but if you saw the living room, you’d understand. I should also mention that she has told me that unless I am seriously injured or dying, I’m not allowed to move back home. Trust me, I seriously contemplated it when I spent that whole three weeks unemployed. When told of the idea she replied with an emphatic “Hell no.” Meanwhile G is being molly coddled and probably won’t be asked to leave until he turns 25 and is offered a dowry of some sort.

    This was all brought to mind this morning when I realized that I hadn’t talked to my mother in like days. Like, I don’t even recall the last time I spoke with her, but I’m assuming it was last week and only after I harassed her assistant. And even then, the conversation was limited to “What do you want? I have a meeting to go to.” That’s the love of a mother people. Don’t be surprised when after my trip home for Easter, she starts referring to me as “Oh, what’s her name…”


    Or as I like to say “ri-cock-ulous”; so ri-cock-ulous in fact that it has to be it’s own post and who doesn’t enjoy reading every inane thought that runs through my head.

    You’re so very welcome.

    Perhaps if it were 1863 and I was fearing the destruction of Fort Sumter and the confederates were coming to take my Yankee ass to Mississippi, then maybe, just maybe this would be ok. But this morning, when quietly perusing my gmail account, I noticed an advertisement for a confederacy website “All things Confederate. Online since 1996!” Of course now I can’t find the URL*, but last I checked, google and gmail were all “Yes there will be advertisements, but only for things that you’d be interested in” and given the intelligence of google, then of course every ad, would pertain to something that I would in fact care about. But the confederacy?
    It must have been that email that proclaimed that the south will rise again. No wait, I know, it was the email I sent to Bone that said “Take care and long live Dixie”.

    And for the record, I like the South, my parents are both southerners, with my father hailing from Birmingham. READ: I am not adverse to southerners just the idea of the confederacy.
    *found the URL www.rebelstore.com Go quick before all of the "I survived Appomattox and all I got was this lousy t-shirt" shirts are sold out.