Let me preempt by saying that other than my few years in elementary school as a clarinet player, I have never been a musician. And granted, my taste in music is often questioned by others. But I've known what I liked for a long time now, and it hasn't changed much since my adolescence. (I tend to get a little frustrated when I meet a person who says they like a little bit of everything, esp b/c I know I have said that once or twice. But when I really thought about it, there's actually very little I like. I tend to stick with what has always worked for me, deeming a very select group of bands as acceptable. Maybe that means I'm close-minded and other people who like "everything" are more forgiving and adventurous. Whatever, I know what I like, and what I like is awesome.)
I tend to think about this alot, esp at work. We're allowed to wear headphones, so often I'll put on 98 Rock to listen to the Morning Show and then leave it on until the 12 Noon Hairball starts. But let me tell you, it is PAINFUL waiting and listening to the pop-rock crap that's being shoved down our throats. I have lovingly dubbed many of these as "Fighting" songs (a.k.a. songs that I can undoubtedly hear being on the movie Fighting soundtrack). These are your typical faux-angry songs, meant to rile you up and drink hard and eventually puke on your way to the dorm.
The other option is the panty-wetting songs that I can only guess were developed by frat-boy record execs to make dumb girls show their boobs and act slutty thinking its being "hard" or "badass." It doesn't ladies. Trust me (I was in college too once, and learned my lesson.) And guys: if you want to be deep and meaningful than get your penis out of your music. Cuz we're not impressed with either.
Now before I start hearing, "ohh but you like HAIR METAL, isn't that the epitome of useless music?", let me say this. I love hair metal and monster ballads. But I love them because it's what feels right for me (and yes I have moved away from the obvious panty-wetter songs of the genre). For some reason that kind of music speaks to something in my soul. (And if the aforementioned bands do it for you...REALLY do it for you, then God bless) Plus listen to some blistering guitar riffs and massive head-exploding high pitch screams and then tell me that it's bland and pointless. I love how the voices and instruments almost become one, how the guys sound like girls and girls sound like harbour seals during mating season. What can I say, it's my music.
On that musical note, Joe and I went to see some bands tonite at the Senator. I really shouldn't say bands--it was more like one and a half bands, and then three singing acts. We went to see Joe's friend's band play but since they weren't on yet, we sat in the seats and listened to the first performers. Ho-ly crap. I thought I was in the 7th circle of hell.
The first kid (and I do mean "kid", he couldn't have been older than 17) was a country singer from Nashville. No band, no guitar. Just him, his big cream-colored Stetson, and a back-up track. He bobbed and tried awkwardly to get the audience to clap with him as he crooned out one generic country song after another.
Then came a trio of brothers that were somewhere between a mix of BBMack, Fall Out Boy, and Hanson. They lost me the second they said, "Hey who's here to have a good time??" And then when they wanted to "teach the audience to sing along", I had to swallow some bile.
Then came another pop-country singer who was a Miley Cyrus rip-off. Very apple-pie yet you knew she prob had an inner freak side. Her death toll came in the form of one or her songs that might has well been called "Freedom Isn't Free," about "the working class American." I'm not saying that's a bad theme, but come on. Shouldn't she be sponsored by Coors Light and Nascar?
Then came another pop singer who was more of a Beyonce knock-off. But she had the pipes so I'll let her slide.
Thankfully, at last Joe's friend's, Elise Major (sp?) and her band came on. Now THIS is a girl that gives me hope for rock musicians that are female...and brings me to the title of tonite's blog. Like I said, I'm no musician or songwriter. But it seems to me that women are JUST AS capable to write amazing songs and kick ass on stage, but they need to check their vaginas at the door. Music should never be about gender. Sure we may experience different things, but it's about the art form. In a way, it should never be about you: it should be about what you have to say. Don't try to be pretty all the time. Scream, throw your head back, thrash the guitar, make your fingernails bleed. We have to claim more of the rock music frontier. Reject the title of "female singer" or "female drummer." No, you are a singer. You are a drummer. And I was happy to hear Elise b/c she showed me it IS possible.
So girls get out there. Wear a shitty old T-shirt. Skip the lipstick. Because most men are idiots and refuse to acknowledge women as musicians or comedians. I'm not saying we have to hate being female. It's a fine gender. But for god's sakes don't forget why you have that guitar or bass in your hands.
Of course these are the opinions of a person who loves music by guys who DO wear lipstick and act glam...so what do I know?
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tempin' Ain't Easy
Oh wait a minute, yes it IS!
For anyone keeping score, the past two years were rough career-wise for me. As grateful for the teaching and educational experience I am, it's not a secret that I'd wake up dreading the day. I couldn't really enjoy Fridays because ALL I would think about would be the fact that I'd have to be back there again and face another whole week in only 48 hours.
But, not wanting to be a quitter, I stuck it out. And when that last bell rang (or in our case the walkie talkie buzzed--that's another whole blog), and gathered up the rest of my stuff, I looked back at the school like the Tower of Terror at Disney--it gave me stomach-wrenching nerve pains before, made me terrified during, but proud that I endured and Goddamn grateful I never have to do it again.
Of course then the issue was money (and of course, figuring out what the hell to do with my life before I die). After tracking down a few job leads and attending a job fair, I began to slightly panic. Throughout the summer I was trying to collect odd jobs to somehow make a complete one...working at DSW, trying to edit and write for a woman's up-and-coming website, even trying to sell newspaper subscriptions at the local Shoppers (yeah that one was painful).
I remember telling Joe what I was looking for. "I just want a job right now that I don't have to feel too stressed about, make enough money to support myself with some savings, and give me some stability." Little did I know, like a little wide-eyed child that my wish would be granted by the Job Fairy.
As luck would have it I was on the LightRail with my friend Erica coming back from seeing Dionne Warwick during Artscape in the city and we were talking about our job situations. Suddenly a girl sitting a few seats away broke into our conversation...
"Are you looking for a job?" she said.
"Yeah, I am actually," I said. I didn't care if she was gonna offer me a spot of territory on the corner or storing crack in my butt, I was getting down to my last bit of savings.
"You know, I was having a hard time finding work too. You should try this temp agency. They set me up with a great job with the potential to hire plus benefits," she said jotting down a number on my notebook.
I really wasn't expecting what I got. After one random job and interview, I got a call from the girl at the agency with my dream temp job.
"It's great pay, laid back environment, and brisk commute." Sign me UP. It didn't take long for this job to get even better. The people are awesome and like to do stuff. I get a nice project that I can work on at a normal pace, and even occasionally surf the Internet.
So like a hair-regrowing product or weight-loss program, know that these results are not typical, but for me they're AWESOME. If you are looking for work, head to a temp agency. I have to agree with Mike Nelson from MST3K..."Tempin's great, man."
(Alright, I'll be honest...part of the reason I wanted to write this particular blog was because I really wanted to use the title. It was such a gem when I thought of it, I swear these puns are my art form of choice.)
P.S. Just had some more good luck despite this comp being weird. It decided to freeze right in the middle of doing some editing that was pissin me off AND it just decided to shut down while I was writing. But BOTH times it automatically saved what I was doing! God, where's the meteor that's gonna hit me, cuz this can't last...
For anyone keeping score, the past two years were rough career-wise for me. As grateful for the teaching and educational experience I am, it's not a secret that I'd wake up dreading the day. I couldn't really enjoy Fridays because ALL I would think about would be the fact that I'd have to be back there again and face another whole week in only 48 hours.
But, not wanting to be a quitter, I stuck it out. And when that last bell rang (or in our case the walkie talkie buzzed--that's another whole blog), and gathered up the rest of my stuff, I looked back at the school like the Tower of Terror at Disney--it gave me stomach-wrenching nerve pains before, made me terrified during, but proud that I endured and Goddamn grateful I never have to do it again.
Of course then the issue was money (and of course, figuring out what the hell to do with my life before I die). After tracking down a few job leads and attending a job fair, I began to slightly panic. Throughout the summer I was trying to collect odd jobs to somehow make a complete one...working at DSW, trying to edit and write for a woman's up-and-coming website, even trying to sell newspaper subscriptions at the local Shoppers (yeah that one was painful).
I remember telling Joe what I was looking for. "I just want a job right now that I don't have to feel too stressed about, make enough money to support myself with some savings, and give me some stability." Little did I know, like a little wide-eyed child that my wish would be granted by the Job Fairy.
As luck would have it I was on the LightRail with my friend Erica coming back from seeing Dionne Warwick during Artscape in the city and we were talking about our job situations. Suddenly a girl sitting a few seats away broke into our conversation...
"Are you looking for a job?" she said.
"Yeah, I am actually," I said. I didn't care if she was gonna offer me a spot of territory on the corner or storing crack in my butt, I was getting down to my last bit of savings.
"You know, I was having a hard time finding work too. You should try this temp agency. They set me up with a great job with the potential to hire plus benefits," she said jotting down a number on my notebook.
I really wasn't expecting what I got. After one random job and interview, I got a call from the girl at the agency with my dream temp job.
"It's great pay, laid back environment, and brisk commute." Sign me UP. It didn't take long for this job to get even better. The people are awesome and like to do stuff. I get a nice project that I can work on at a normal pace, and even occasionally surf the Internet.
So like a hair-regrowing product or weight-loss program, know that these results are not typical, but for me they're AWESOME. If you are looking for work, head to a temp agency. I have to agree with Mike Nelson from MST3K..."Tempin's great, man."
(Alright, I'll be honest...part of the reason I wanted to write this particular blog was because I really wanted to use the title. It was such a gem when I thought of it, I swear these puns are my art form of choice.)
P.S. Just had some more good luck despite this comp being weird. It decided to freeze right in the middle of doing some editing that was pissin me off AND it just decided to shut down while I was writing. But BOTH times it automatically saved what I was doing! God, where's the meteor that's gonna hit me, cuz this can't last...
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Stream On
I'm not gonna lie. I kinda don't feel like writing tonite. In fact, I've been having a hard time motivating myself at all today. And yet, I think I've been pretty productive: worked, made meatloaf for dinner, edited...and now writing. So since I'm lacking cute little wordplays and puns, I'm gonna pull out a blogger's failsafe--the old stream of consciousness.
I'm watching Chopped right now, and becoming amazed at really how many food products I simply don't find appetizing. Oyster sauce? It reminds me of clam juice. Not that I've ever had either but it doesn't really sound like something you want to slurp through a straw does it? My first boyfriend Mike introduced me to a couple of odd sodas. One was a kind he LOVED called Manhattan Special, a.k.a. coffee-flavored soda. Even just thinking about that takes me right back to being 16, sitting in the front seat of his BMW, cruising around Red Bank or down to the pier in Highlands. I was getting lost in my memories of him the other day too actually when Billy Joel's "New York State of Mind" came up on my iPod.
Anyway, the other soda he introduced me to, and hopefully I will never taste it again, was a celery soda. If you can imagine carbonated grass clippings, you're right about there. Ugh.
I hate tofu too. I think it's partly a consistency thing (little brick sponges) but it doesn't seem to have much flavor. I mention this because one of the ingredients was something called tofu skin. Was that necessary to create? I'm sure it's the kind of thing that if you know what you're doing then it can be tasty, but I'll pass for now.
Ok, no more Chopped. I shouldn't even be watching Food Network. I'm dying for a 11 p.m. snack, but seeing as how I quite literally ate half a meatloaf with mashed potatoes, I prob don't need that small bag of Cheetos.
Oh, and btw my throat is STILL sore. I had strep about three weeks ago, and before you ask, YES i did take all the medication. but it feels like Mike Tyson's Knockout (or is it Punchout? Game-nerds, help me out here)...the medicine was in the process of a KO when it took a gulp of water and at the last second the illness got back up and smashed medicine's jaw.
I did think tho that maybe it had something to do with the way I have been sleeping. You ever notice how your sleep habits change? I used to always be a side-sleeper. Then around college I found myself always pulling myself onto my stomach. Then I couldn't sleep without putting a pillow, comforter or something else between my knees (Insert Inappropriate Quip Here). Now I have to physically hold my extra pillow in my arms. I wonder what that means...
Now I'm watching Will & Grace. I used to really love this show and find it hilarious. But I watch it now and its kinda borderline annoying. The jokes can be seen coming a long way (and ironically this is where the writers would probably make Jack pop out saying something obvious about "coming" and "long"). But it's this or Golden Girls...and I still have a few years before I can quote this as well.
And now it's midnight. Well guys, sorry if this one was kind of a dud. I'll try to be more on my game tomorrow. Until then, goodnight my magical three!
I'm watching Chopped right now, and becoming amazed at really how many food products I simply don't find appetizing. Oyster sauce? It reminds me of clam juice. Not that I've ever had either but it doesn't really sound like something you want to slurp through a straw does it? My first boyfriend Mike introduced me to a couple of odd sodas. One was a kind he LOVED called Manhattan Special, a.k.a. coffee-flavored soda. Even just thinking about that takes me right back to being 16, sitting in the front seat of his BMW, cruising around Red Bank or down to the pier in Highlands. I was getting lost in my memories of him the other day too actually when Billy Joel's "New York State of Mind" came up on my iPod.
Anyway, the other soda he introduced me to, and hopefully I will never taste it again, was a celery soda. If you can imagine carbonated grass clippings, you're right about there. Ugh.
I hate tofu too. I think it's partly a consistency thing (little brick sponges) but it doesn't seem to have much flavor. I mention this because one of the ingredients was something called tofu skin. Was that necessary to create? I'm sure it's the kind of thing that if you know what you're doing then it can be tasty, but I'll pass for now.
Ok, no more Chopped. I shouldn't even be watching Food Network. I'm dying for a 11 p.m. snack, but seeing as how I quite literally ate half a meatloaf with mashed potatoes, I prob don't need that small bag of Cheetos.
Oh, and btw my throat is STILL sore. I had strep about three weeks ago, and before you ask, YES i did take all the medication. but it feels like Mike Tyson's Knockout (or is it Punchout? Game-nerds, help me out here)...the medicine was in the process of a KO when it took a gulp of water and at the last second the illness got back up and smashed medicine's jaw.
I did think tho that maybe it had something to do with the way I have been sleeping. You ever notice how your sleep habits change? I used to always be a side-sleeper. Then around college I found myself always pulling myself onto my stomach. Then I couldn't sleep without putting a pillow, comforter or something else between my knees (Insert Inappropriate Quip Here). Now I have to physically hold my extra pillow in my arms. I wonder what that means...
Now I'm watching Will & Grace. I used to really love this show and find it hilarious. But I watch it now and its kinda borderline annoying. The jokes can be seen coming a long way (and ironically this is where the writers would probably make Jack pop out saying something obvious about "coming" and "long"). But it's this or Golden Girls...and I still have a few years before I can quote this as well.
And now it's midnight. Well guys, sorry if this one was kind of a dud. I'll try to be more on my game tomorrow. Until then, goodnight my magical three!
Monday, April 26, 2010
Mundane, Monday (Thoughts)
This day was seriously kicking my ass. Not because of anything bad, but because it was so damn dreary and cold, I felt like I was in a Charles Dickens novel, except there were no foppish characters and homeless children.
As a result of the weather, and the fact that my job tends to be monotonous my brain can't help but wander. The oddest things kinda came to mind, and I thought I'd share...
1.) The Seriously Little Mermaid- I'm not sure if this was ever brought to attention but seeing as how everyone already knows the urban legend of the perv priest, this probably isn't terribly shocking. But still...She was 16! You thought we would forget that in the span of 90 mins, Disney? I don't care how charming that damn crab and fish are, you don't stack a red-headed minor's clam shells like that (with a waist that could slip through bagel). As if girls didn't have enough impossible standards, they gotta deal with a freaking drawing. That's bad enough but then she gets married? I know, I used to think Eric was a hot too, but when you look at him closely, doesn't he look like he might be pushing towards 30? What is this, a movie for kids or a pitch for Lifetime Movie Network? I'm probably reading too into this...at least the gold penis castle is cool.
2.) Puppies with plural names instantly get cuter AND way funnier- Consider: a dog named Jet or a dog named Sprinkles. You can not help but laugh and smile for Sprinkles. I thought about this after doing more puppy-hunting and found a dog named Snickers. I broke out into the biggest smile, it was almost good enough reason to fill out the application (except for the adoption fee...and that whole lifetime commitment thing). It really works for any plural noun...Peaches, Bubbles, or Smuckers (yes, with a name like Smuckers it has to be ADORABLE)
3.) Whatever happened to Hitler's body? This isn't so much a funny thought, I was seriously trying to go through my brain to figure out if I had ever learned what happened to him but I really don't think I did. You'd think for something so major as the death of one of the most treacherous human beings that ever crossed the earth would be well-documented. I'd be curious to hear the conspiracy theories that are associated with this. I'm sure I could find some stuff about it online, but I'm too lazy (plus I felt a little weird just looking for this picture. I figure if I ever end up dead and the CSIs decide to go through my computer records they will for some reason assume I was involved with a skinhead group). So if anyone out there does know what happened to his body, I'd like to know. Ok, my hair is being pulled out in this towel, which I guess is my version of the music that plays at the conclusion of Dr. Katz's sessions (if you get THAT reference, I am impressed). Good night fair readers...
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Everything is Coming Up Milhouse...
First off, let me say hello and welcome to the...that's right...SECOND follower for this blog. Ahh, it feels good to be a winner...
Unfortunately, however, I am having a hard time thinking of something to write tonite. I'm gonna try and maintain writing every weekday (incl Friday), but last night was a little too crazy. So I guess I'll write about today, a.k.a. MY day.
You ever see that episode of CSI where everything goes Hodges way? He finds the dollar on the ground, that chick who looks like she came off a toothpaste ad from the 90s smiles at him, he gets three bags of chips from that single aforementioned dollar in the machine, all to finally come together when he solves the mystery of the Miniature Killer. (And I apologize for the massive spoiler if there was one). That was basically my day today.
At first it didn't start well. Last night we had plans with another couple at their apartment and as the wine kept coming my phone slipped out and I didn't notice till we were on our way home. (I don't why, but when I've had a couple drinks I am obsessed with making sure my essentials: wallet, car keys, phone, lip balm, make it back home-I think it's more because I HATE preventable accidents, it just pisses me off) So I went from being sweet towards Joe to being Pissy O'Bitch before we even got home--poor guy.
I was also stressed because Joe was leaving to film a festival in West Virginia so I had to hope that my friend would respond to the text I sent her on Joe's phone before he headed out. Luckily she did, and I was ready to get it. As I was driving my friend Ashley, who is so busy I usually don't get to see her often even though we live a baseball throw away from each other, was on her patio and waving me down. She was trying to call me, but after I explained why I wasn't answering we made plans to hang out at her restaurant after she was done with work. So that made me feel good.
Then, I picked up the phone (+ the case of beer that we originally brought for them but they said they really wouldn't drink it--Score!) and headed to my big mission for the day...finding a gift for my friend Kelly's son birthday. Again, I was feeling stressed. Maybe it's me, but I HATE trying to get gifts for others because I am always worried the person will hate the gift. I know it's incredibly irrational and a waste of worry. But fortunately I have stock piles of worry that are constantly refilled.
I was set at ease with a very pleasant and sweet message from Kelly so again, made my little self-esteem barometer raise a bit. THEN I get to the Babies R' Us (hoping to heaven like hell that his wish list would work there instead of TOYS R US which was way out in Jahomafuck) and (angelic ahhhh) they had the gifts I wanted to give him PLUS it was under my budget. Kick that Ass..
Then, after getting my free bread from Target (thank you coupon) I decided since Joe was not around to say things like, "come on let's go", or "don't you already have something like those?", or "you ever think that shoes are just made to give us bunions so we keep podiatrists in business?" I decided to stop over at DSW. I mean, even though I haven't technically worked there in over a month I did still have my discount card, so wouldn't I be foolish if I DIDN'T get myself a few more pairs of shoes before it ran out/they realized that very fact that I haven't work in over a MONTH. I had no choice if you think about it.
So I found two pairs (that I really did need) and a new bag (ok, I really didn't need that but what the hell). I walked up to the counter and as I pulled out the card I held my breath hoping a red-flashing light wouldn't go off and a massive message didn't flash on the register screen that said "THIS IS NOT AN EMPLOYEE SHE IS SCAMMING YOU OUT OF $20.97 WORTH OF DISCOUNTS". When that didn't happen of course, I walked out the door beaming.
And then finally, after the birthday party, I figured since I was going by my hair salon (and since I haven't had my hair cut since around Thanksgiving) maybe by some miracle they could fit me in. I walk in and the place looks deserted. Not only could I just walk-in, but the girl who cut my hair seemed the most educated and professional stylist I've ever had. She gave me tips on what I ought to be using, helped me figure out what was wrong with my last cut, and even read my mind by adding some layers in the back.
Ahhh, so NOW i am just chillin with my new episode of "It's Me or the Dog," looking forward to tonite. Could my luck turn tomorrow and be a fully-realized nightmare? Will I win the lottery? Guess you'll have to read on Monday...du du duuuuu
Unfortunately, however, I am having a hard time thinking of something to write tonite. I'm gonna try and maintain writing every weekday (incl Friday), but last night was a little too crazy. So I guess I'll write about today, a.k.a. MY day.
You ever see that episode of CSI where everything goes Hodges way? He finds the dollar on the ground, that chick who looks like she came off a toothpaste ad from the 90s smiles at him, he gets three bags of chips from that single aforementioned dollar in the machine, all to finally come together when he solves the mystery of the Miniature Killer. (And I apologize for the massive spoiler if there was one). That was basically my day today.
At first it didn't start well. Last night we had plans with another couple at their apartment and as the wine kept coming my phone slipped out and I didn't notice till we were on our way home. (I don't why, but when I've had a couple drinks I am obsessed with making sure my essentials: wallet, car keys, phone, lip balm, make it back home-I think it's more because I HATE preventable accidents, it just pisses me off) So I went from being sweet towards Joe to being Pissy O'Bitch before we even got home--poor guy.
I was also stressed because Joe was leaving to film a festival in West Virginia so I had to hope that my friend would respond to the text I sent her on Joe's phone before he headed out. Luckily she did, and I was ready to get it. As I was driving my friend Ashley, who is so busy I usually don't get to see her often even though we live a baseball throw away from each other, was on her patio and waving me down. She was trying to call me, but after I explained why I wasn't answering we made plans to hang out at her restaurant after she was done with work. So that made me feel good.
Then, I picked up the phone (+ the case of beer that we originally brought for them but they said they really wouldn't drink it--Score!) and headed to my big mission for the day...finding a gift for my friend Kelly's son birthday. Again, I was feeling stressed. Maybe it's me, but I HATE trying to get gifts for others because I am always worried the person will hate the gift. I know it's incredibly irrational and a waste of worry. But fortunately I have stock piles of worry that are constantly refilled.
I was set at ease with a very pleasant and sweet message from Kelly so again, made my little self-esteem barometer raise a bit. THEN I get to the Babies R' Us (hoping to heaven like hell that his wish list would work there instead of TOYS R US which was way out in Jahomafuck) and (angelic ahhhh) they had the gifts I wanted to give him PLUS it was under my budget. Kick that Ass..
Then, after getting my free bread from Target (thank you coupon) I decided since Joe was not around to say things like, "come on let's go", or "don't you already have something like those?", or "you ever think that shoes are just made to give us bunions so we keep podiatrists in business?" I decided to stop over at DSW. I mean, even though I haven't technically worked there in over a month I did still have my discount card, so wouldn't I be foolish if I DIDN'T get myself a few more pairs of shoes before it ran out/they realized that very fact that I haven't work in over a MONTH. I had no choice if you think about it.
So I found two pairs (that I really did need) and a new bag (ok, I really didn't need that but what the hell). I walked up to the counter and as I pulled out the card I held my breath hoping a red-flashing light wouldn't go off and a massive message didn't flash on the register screen that said "THIS IS NOT AN EMPLOYEE SHE IS SCAMMING YOU OUT OF $20.97 WORTH OF DISCOUNTS". When that didn't happen of course, I walked out the door beaming.
And then finally, after the birthday party, I figured since I was going by my hair salon (and since I haven't had my hair cut since around Thanksgiving) maybe by some miracle they could fit me in. I walk in and the place looks deserted. Not only could I just walk-in, but the girl who cut my hair seemed the most educated and professional stylist I've ever had. She gave me tips on what I ought to be using, helped me figure out what was wrong with my last cut, and even read my mind by adding some layers in the back.
Ahhh, so NOW i am just chillin with my new episode of "It's Me or the Dog," looking forward to tonite. Could my luck turn tomorrow and be a fully-realized nightmare? Will I win the lottery? Guess you'll have to read on Monday...du du duuuuu
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Hottie Baldies
Back when ER was just beginning to get to the height of its popularity I remember my mom once commented on one of the actors. No, not George (though she admitted he was gorgeous). Not Noah Wylie (she said he was cute.) No, the guy she said was Anthony Edwards (or as she called him, "that sexy bald doctor."
Now granted, I was still languishing over an embarrassing crush on Dean Cain at the time, so I couldn't really see what my mom saw in that guy, esp because he was (*gasp) BALD. But now that I'm older and slightly wiser, I can see what she saw in him. Guys are usually so paranoid about losing their hair, but as I was watching SVU I realized that bald men can be just as sexy as hair guys--sometimes even sexier. It got me thinking about compiling a short list of the cutest cue balls out there...
Detective Elliot Stabler-
His smoky stares, his tight angry voice, his gun handling (wink) and ESP the way he slams pedophiles into metal grates...ooh, hottie mchotterstein. Plus you gotta love the episodes where he's working out. He may have lost his hair, but he gains total sex appeal.
John McClane-
I don't really consider myself a "guy-movie" fan, but when I saw Die Hard, I got a serious crush on John McClane (or McClain, whatever, not the point). It took just a quick second of seeing him all greased-up and hearing his quippy one-liners and I was a goner. (Let me just emphasize, it's not necessarily Bruce Willis I've got it in for, it's the bad-ass-but-has-a-good-heart character)
Agent Smith-
Yeah yeah I can hear the rumble of disagreement. But consider this: He's well dressed, wears awesome shades and has more balls than Keanu in all three movies combined (You can't tell me you didn't get a funny feeling when he'd slam his fist into someone and take over their life-force or whatever--such power and anger)- His bad-ass-ittude is off the charts and therefore incredibly sexy. So what if he wants to destroy the world? We can overlook that can't we?
Miles (from Sideways)
Ok, now before you turn on me let me preface by saying Miles may not seem like an obvious choice for a fantasy romp, but you've got to consider his character. Paul Giamatti is a brilliant actor anyway, and he really brings Miles to life. He is able to combine a comfortable humor with a deep sentimentality. His vulnerability is apparent (particularly in the scene when he and Mia are out on the porch and talking about why they drink wine) and makes one want to touch his face and make him smile. There is such a depth to him there that is almost looks as if it was taken from a painting. (ok, maybe he's not a sex-pot, but I haven't seen Shoot 'Em Up yet, but I am sure that would def make him a qualifier)
Hopefully we have learned to embrace our hair-challenged men and led them to understand that we women do not find fault with them. Confidence, gents, is the key to sexiness. It's not on what top that matters, but what you have on the inside. (aww, such a Springer Final Thoughts moment)
Please note: These are the opinions of the writer and not necessarily the opinions of others...but they SHOULD be. If you have any other famous men who you think should be included, please pass 'em along!
Now granted, I was still languishing over an embarrassing crush on Dean Cain at the time, so I couldn't really see what my mom saw in that guy, esp because he was (*gasp) BALD. But now that I'm older and slightly wiser, I can see what she saw in him. Guys are usually so paranoid about losing their hair, but as I was watching SVU I realized that bald men can be just as sexy as hair guys--sometimes even sexier. It got me thinking about compiling a short list of the cutest cue balls out there...
Detective Elliot Stabler-
His smoky stares, his tight angry voice, his gun handling (wink) and ESP the way he slams pedophiles into metal grates...ooh, hottie mchotterstein. Plus you gotta love the episodes where he's working out. He may have lost his hair, but he gains total sex appeal.
John McClane-
I don't really consider myself a "guy-movie" fan, but when I saw Die Hard, I got a serious crush on John McClane (or McClain, whatever, not the point). It took just a quick second of seeing him all greased-up and hearing his quippy one-liners and I was a goner. (Let me just emphasize, it's not necessarily Bruce Willis I've got it in for, it's the bad-ass-but-has-a-good-heart character)
Agent Smith-Yeah yeah I can hear the rumble of disagreement. But consider this: He's well dressed, wears awesome shades and has more balls than Keanu in all three movies combined (You can't tell me you didn't get a funny feeling when he'd slam his fist into someone and take over their life-force or whatever--such power and anger)- His bad-ass-ittude is off the charts and therefore incredibly sexy. So what if he wants to destroy the world? We can overlook that can't we?
Miles (from Sideways)
Ok, now before you turn on me let me preface by saying Miles may not seem like an obvious choice for a fantasy romp, but you've got to consider his character. Paul Giamatti is a brilliant actor anyway, and he really brings Miles to life. He is able to combine a comfortable humor with a deep sentimentality. His vulnerability is apparent (particularly in the scene when he and Mia are out on the porch and talking about why they drink wine) and makes one want to touch his face and make him smile. There is such a depth to him there that is almost looks as if it was taken from a painting. (ok, maybe he's not a sex-pot, but I haven't seen Shoot 'Em Up yet, but I am sure that would def make him a qualifier) Hopefully we have learned to embrace our hair-challenged men and led them to understand that we women do not find fault with them. Confidence, gents, is the key to sexiness. It's not on what top that matters, but what you have on the inside. (aww, such a Springer Final Thoughts moment)
Please note: These are the opinions of the writer and not necessarily the opinions of others...but they SHOULD be. If you have any other famous men who you think should be included, please pass 'em along!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Socialstances
Chances are when you first meet me I am: smiling, casually making eye-contact, and when I speak make my voice ridiculously high and pleasing. Maybe that's normal, I dunno. But usually I am what you might call "socially inept".
Which makes me doubly annoyed at people who holler from the rooftops about how "real" they are. Really people? I find that hard to believe. Who can be themselves ALL the time. There has got to be at least a few variations-- the "friends you", the "family you", the "job you"...maybe sometimes you pull out something special for specific occasions (the "meeting other people's parents" you or even a "Grandma" you). We are not little-black dresses that are a good fit for any situation. And if you are, you are just as rare to find.
Anyway, back to me. I never know what the other person is expecting from me, so I usually put on the smile until my head feels like its gonna split just to make sure the person thinks, "well gee she seems nice." I never really tend to worry if I like the person, just as long as they like me. I guess that's the George Costanza in me ("I MUST be liked").
Even with strangers I try like hell to make sure they like me. You never know when the shit goes down who'll have your back, esp if its the guy holding the gun ("All right people, on the ground. Except for you girl that smiled at me on the bus and let me get on first. You are free to go")- Not likely I know, but good to be prepared.
However, I was faced with an unusual social dilemma the other day. My desk at work is right next to a big window. I was typing something and then BAM. The window washer guy dropped down and stopped right in front of me. I was startled to say the least (it's possible I screamed a bit and jumped...very possible). But I tried to regain my composure by smiling at him and then turning back to my computer screen. Now normally in these moments when you acknowledge a stranger you do so briefly and then head on your way. Instead, this guy was hanging from a couple of ropes and squee-geeing my window. It's probably not that big of a deal, but I kept wondering what the polite thing to do would be. Do I smile again? Do I wave? Probably since the guy was a good couple floors up and relying on some rope he wasn't looking to make a friend. Still, I'm a newcomer to this "corporate" world, and haven't gotten used to some of these situations that drop into view (pun intended.)
Anyway, speaking of splitting heads, I'm either getting a massive headache because I'm tired, been staring at a computer screen all day, or the towel on my head is too tight and heavy. In any event, it's bedtime. Good night!
Which makes me doubly annoyed at people who holler from the rooftops about how "real" they are. Really people? I find that hard to believe. Who can be themselves ALL the time. There has got to be at least a few variations-- the "friends you", the "family you", the "job you"...maybe sometimes you pull out something special for specific occasions (the "meeting other people's parents" you or even a "Grandma" you). We are not little-black dresses that are a good fit for any situation. And if you are, you are just as rare to find.
Anyway, back to me. I never know what the other person is expecting from me, so I usually put on the smile until my head feels like its gonna split just to make sure the person thinks, "well gee she seems nice." I never really tend to worry if I like the person, just as long as they like me. I guess that's the George Costanza in me ("I MUST be liked").
Even with strangers I try like hell to make sure they like me. You never know when the shit goes down who'll have your back, esp if its the guy holding the gun ("All right people, on the ground. Except for you girl that smiled at me on the bus and let me get on first. You are free to go")- Not likely I know, but good to be prepared.
However, I was faced with an unusual social dilemma the other day. My desk at work is right next to a big window. I was typing something and then BAM. The window washer guy dropped down and stopped right in front of me. I was startled to say the least (it's possible I screamed a bit and jumped...very possible). But I tried to regain my composure by smiling at him and then turning back to my computer screen. Now normally in these moments when you acknowledge a stranger you do so briefly and then head on your way. Instead, this guy was hanging from a couple of ropes and squee-geeing my window. It's probably not that big of a deal, but I kept wondering what the polite thing to do would be. Do I smile again? Do I wave? Probably since the guy was a good couple floors up and relying on some rope he wasn't looking to make a friend. Still, I'm a newcomer to this "corporate" world, and haven't gotten used to some of these situations that drop into view (pun intended.)
Anyway, speaking of splitting heads, I'm either getting a massive headache because I'm tired, been staring at a computer screen all day, or the towel on my head is too tight and heavy. In any event, it's bedtime. Good night!
Monday, April 19, 2010
Down the Toilet...
You ever laugh at something that didn't actually happen? You know...you ALMOST do something and just the mere thought of that thing makes you start laughing out loud.
Well that happened to me a few weeks ago at work. I went into the kitchen to fill up my water bottle and wasn't paying attention to where I was going really. I almost walked into the refrigerator door. Instead, at the last second I did one of those Crouching-Tiger shoulder pivots and just missed it. I kept thinking to myself, Wow, I really almost smacked right into the fridge, thank God no one was in there. And then the more I thought about it I kept thinking about how funny it must've looked like. I started to break into a smile and then what Kathy Griffin once called "the church giggles"- where you are trying desperately to suppress laughter at an inappropriate time and then it makes you laugh harder. Our office already sounds like a tomb and I'm sitting at my desk trying to breath out the laughs without drawing attention to myself.
The same sort of thing happened again today at work. I was in the bathroom and used my foot to flush the toilet. Now, another reason I love this job is their dress-code (and chiefly the fact that they don't really have one) so I usually wear jeans, plain shirt (usually a sweater too because somehow my particular section of the office feels like it's in a constant state of frigidity), and a pair of slip-ons that kind of look like the ones Cinderella used in the beginning of the movie when she was still a servant (you remember that?)
Anyway, as I pushed the lever down with my foot my shoe shifted and I had to kick it back to the floor, just barely missing the toilet. As relieved as I was, I couldn't help but start smiling. What the hell would I have done if I had knocked my own shoe into the toilet? I pictured myself trying to fish it out in the least revolting way and then squishing nonchalantly back, hoping no one would ask me why there were puddles leading to my desk. Or instead I'd just walk around with one shoe the rest of the day and count the number of odd looks I'd get. You see the comedic situations that could possibly ensue?
Oh well, hope that didn't gross anyone out (or at least you, Hill and Jessica--seems my fan base has doubled).
More hilarity/insight to follow tomorrow...
Well that happened to me a few weeks ago at work. I went into the kitchen to fill up my water bottle and wasn't paying attention to where I was going really. I almost walked into the refrigerator door. Instead, at the last second I did one of those Crouching-Tiger shoulder pivots and just missed it. I kept thinking to myself, Wow, I really almost smacked right into the fridge, thank God no one was in there. And then the more I thought about it I kept thinking about how funny it must've looked like. I started to break into a smile and then what Kathy Griffin once called "the church giggles"- where you are trying desperately to suppress laughter at an inappropriate time and then it makes you laugh harder. Our office already sounds like a tomb and I'm sitting at my desk trying to breath out the laughs without drawing attention to myself.
The same sort of thing happened again today at work. I was in the bathroom and used my foot to flush the toilet. Now, another reason I love this job is their dress-code (and chiefly the fact that they don't really have one) so I usually wear jeans, plain shirt (usually a sweater too because somehow my particular section of the office feels like it's in a constant state of frigidity), and a pair of slip-ons that kind of look like the ones Cinderella used in the beginning of the movie when she was still a servant (you remember that?)
Anyway, as I pushed the lever down with my foot my shoe shifted and I had to kick it back to the floor, just barely missing the toilet. As relieved as I was, I couldn't help but start smiling. What the hell would I have done if I had knocked my own shoe into the toilet? I pictured myself trying to fish it out in the least revolting way and then squishing nonchalantly back, hoping no one would ask me why there were puddles leading to my desk. Or instead I'd just walk around with one shoe the rest of the day and count the number of odd looks I'd get. You see the comedic situations that could possibly ensue?
Oh well, hope that didn't gross anyone out (or at least you, Hill and Jessica--seems my fan base has doubled).
More hilarity/insight to follow tomorrow...
Friday, April 16, 2010
Review of the Weak
I was looking back already at some of my posts and realized that they're basically stories from my past. Instead, I vow here on in to write about the present. That's what these blog-diary things are supposed to be like anyway, right?
(And btw, I love that I keep writing this thing with an audience in mind. As of right now I am literally only talking to my sister, Hillary--hey sis! Even though I have about as much chance of people finding AND continuing to follow this blog as getting back a quarter I tossed out in space, it still somehow feels better to write like I'm talking to someone...eww did I just get too "poor me"? My apologies, Hill)
So, interesting highlights of this week include:
-Finally getting my voice back. I was struck by the strep last week and didn't get it back until around Monday or Tuesday. Which is a good thing, cuz I think the raspy, two-pack a day, gin-drinking voice was starting to get old for Joe. And kudos to Express Care! Not only were they open on Sunday (what?), they were open EASTER Sunday (let's add a "Say" to that "what"). Plus they were alot nicer than the people at Patient First (sorry to anyone who works/knows someone who works there--see I keep doing it...the imaginary audience, bah)
--Sick of seeing Wangs. (Nothing like sexual innuendo to capture attention) My job has me sifting through names from different countries all day and the section of Wangs is BRU-TAL. I don't mean to sound ignorant but seriously? I know we have alot of Smiths and Jones' but god damn...Can I get a Wangstein or a Wangington?
---Noticed a girl running...on the street...of York Road...at 4 p.m. Now, I am a runner (sometimes) and I understand the annoyance of trying to find a good route to run on without hassle, but I'm not really sure she has an excuse. I was literally about a foot away from clipping her with my car. I had to extend into the other lane just to avoid her (as did the dozens of others during rush hour). In instances like that, I'm sorry, maybe you deserve to get hit by a car...maybe it'll knock sense into you.
----Learning to edit. This just happened last night actually. Last Friday my friends (and hosts for the evening) Ashley and Lauren helped me realize an idea I had with Joe called "Stop n' Shot"- basically the premise is we go to three bars and have three shots under a certain theme (this one was "The Boys: Jack Dan, Jim Bean, and Johnny Walker"), and I film the whole thing. I got the clips together and started working on piecing them together on Movie-Maker. Hmm might have another thing to add to the ol' resume soon (or at least a new hobby).
And here we are at present-time. It's around 4:25 on Friday. I'm slouching here in my workout clothes, starving ,and waiting for Joe to get here so we can get some food, but he's not answering his phone...boo.
Well, that's all for now. See you all (see? still can't stop) back again soon. Maybe I'll try doing some pilates on 695...rush hour should just be getting good...
(And btw, I love that I keep writing this thing with an audience in mind. As of right now I am literally only talking to my sister, Hillary--hey sis! Even though I have about as much chance of people finding AND continuing to follow this blog as getting back a quarter I tossed out in space, it still somehow feels better to write like I'm talking to someone...eww did I just get too "poor me"? My apologies, Hill)
So, interesting highlights of this week include:
-Finally getting my voice back. I was struck by the strep last week and didn't get it back until around Monday or Tuesday. Which is a good thing, cuz I think the raspy, two-pack a day, gin-drinking voice was starting to get old for Joe. And kudos to Express Care! Not only were they open on Sunday (what?), they were open EASTER Sunday (let's add a "Say" to that "what"). Plus they were alot nicer than the people at Patient First (sorry to anyone who works/knows someone who works there--see I keep doing it...the imaginary audience, bah)
--Sick of seeing Wangs. (Nothing like sexual innuendo to capture attention) My job has me sifting through names from different countries all day and the section of Wangs is BRU-TAL. I don't mean to sound ignorant but seriously? I know we have alot of Smiths and Jones' but god damn...Can I get a Wangstein or a Wangington?
---Noticed a girl running...on the street...of York Road...at 4 p.m. Now, I am a runner (sometimes) and I understand the annoyance of trying to find a good route to run on without hassle, but I'm not really sure she has an excuse. I was literally about a foot away from clipping her with my car. I had to extend into the other lane just to avoid her (as did the dozens of others during rush hour). In instances like that, I'm sorry, maybe you deserve to get hit by a car...maybe it'll knock sense into you.
----Learning to edit. This just happened last night actually. Last Friday my friends (and hosts for the evening) Ashley and Lauren helped me realize an idea I had with Joe called "Stop n' Shot"- basically the premise is we go to three bars and have three shots under a certain theme (this one was "The Boys: Jack Dan, Jim Bean, and Johnny Walker"), and I film the whole thing. I got the clips together and started working on piecing them together on Movie-Maker. Hmm might have another thing to add to the ol' resume soon (or at least a new hobby).
And here we are at present-time. It's around 4:25 on Friday. I'm slouching here in my workout clothes, starving ,and waiting for Joe to get here so we can get some food, but he's not answering his phone...boo.
Well, that's all for now. See you all (see? still can't stop) back again soon. Maybe I'll try doing some pilates on 695...rush hour should just be getting good...
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Reality Bites
I had a friend back in high school who I once tried to engage in a conversation with about some TV episode and she just shrugged her shoulders and said, "I'm not a big TV person." Not a TV person? For someone who literally considered Xena (Warrior Princess) and the guys on the Satellite of Love as personal confidantes I almost couldn't wrap my mind around that statement. Everyone I knew watched television (though none so much as me--I say shamefully). Hell, I used to use babysitting my younger brother as an excuse to not go out. (I can hear the collective sound of everyone who knew me back then saying "Ahh the last piece of the puzzle". Oh well, I think admitting you have a problem is the first step towards recovery, right?) But even if you weren't a total shut-in weirdo like me, I wondered how someone, with all the options out there could physically avoid television. Then again, she was different than me: social, active in sports, involved in clubs...you know, everything I tended to shun.
But while everyone else was busy getting their "high school experiences", I have a plethora of memories of first and final episodes, monumental guest stars, edgy stories....so many memories.
The reason I write about this now is because I was thinking back to some of my fav or most memorable commercials.
Believe it or not, VW commercials had the best songs.
Remember this one about the two guys who picked up the chair? The "Da da daa" song. Yeah, you know you do, and you're welcome...good luck keeping that song out of your head for another decade.
Before you reign your pity on me like ticker-tape at a parade, let me say in my defense that they make TV shows ABOUT commercials. So the fact that I note particularly special ones for me can't mean I'm that pathetic right? Ah well, enough from you people...Will & Grace is starting...
But while everyone else was busy getting their "high school experiences", I have a plethora of memories of first and final episodes, monumental guest stars, edgy stories....so many memories.
The reason I write about this now is because I was thinking back to some of my fav or most memorable commercials.
Believe it or not, VW commercials had the best songs.
Remember this one about the two guys who picked up the chair? The "Da da daa" song. Yeah, you know you do, and you're welcome...good luck keeping that song out of your head for another decade.
And actually, it was because of another VW commercial that I discovered the song, "Pink Moon" by Nick Drake (THE best late-night summer driving song).
I can never not smile when I see commercial for MasterCard (or Visa, or American Express, I can't remember but whatever it's called) with all the smiley-faces made out of unusual objects. I don't know why, but it just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.
But the BEST commercial I have ever seen that makes me laugh like a madman every time I see it (and am sad that they retired it) is the one for Tide-to-Go. If you haven't seen it, go on Google or Yahoo or whichever engine you fancy and watch it. Funniest 30 secs of your life, especially at the end ("Now in a MINI!")...
Before you reign your pity on me like ticker-tape at a parade, let me say in my defense that they make TV shows ABOUT commercials. So the fact that I note particularly special ones for me can't mean I'm that pathetic right? Ah well, enough from you people...Will & Grace is starting...
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
How I Met Your Mother's Two and a Half Men's Big Bang Theory...
Sometimes I have moments in my life where I swear I'm being filmed for some sort of second-rate sit-com (hence the title). And just in case this blog outlives me and/or people don't know what I mean, I intend to provide documentation. Therefore, as stories come to mind I thought I'd provide them as episodes of my own crappy little life.
Here's what I mean...
Episode 1: "Home Sweet yet Uncomfortable Home"
When I was preparing to study abroad to England I was told that part of the program required a weekend home visit with an actual English family. At first I became incredibly nervous. Granted it's not a terribly foreign country, but I was already feeling the high-school fear of making friends but add on top a heaping pile of spending-a-weekend-with-a-bunch-of-strangers-that-are-forced-to-feed-and-shelter-me. But when I was told that often people are paired off to one family I was able to relax. I figured, as bad as it could be at least I wouldn't suffer alone.
As time went on I kept hoping that by some overlook they would forget all about the visit. But, of course, they didn't and the day arrived.
We all gathered outside where the buses usually were. I stood around with my friends and soon the families began arriving. I noticed younger parents and some hip looking 30 and 40 yr olds. I began to think maybe the weekend wouldn't be too bad. Little by little my fellow students were picked away until I was standing alone. I stood holding my pathetic little backpack as it got darker and darker. I felt like an orphan waiting for my new family to come get me and they forgot the date. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, watching the program directors go back and forth to figure out what was happening, and hoping that I might be able to just go back to my tiny shoebox dorm room a small station wagon finally pulled up. And out popped a gray-haired couple. My hope of a pair of party-goers quickly evaporated.
I joined them into their car and we actually made pleasant conversation. She was originally from Brittany, a small region of northwestern France with alot of connections to England (the name translated means "small Britain" I think she said). Actually, the husband didn't talk too much, which is fine but it just added extra pressure on me and the wife. Fortunately, she was talkative, just not really for anything about me. She kept telling me about their last student-visitor who was a singer. I told her about how I was an aspiring writer or teacher or whatever to try and compete with that (which didn't totally work). Instead I decided to take the role of talk-show host and just sputter out question after question like a damn computer survey (which did work).
They turned in around 9, but being in Friday Night mode I didn't feel tired so I stayed up until nearly 2 a.m. watching TV.
The next day they dropped me back into the town to meet up with the group for a tour of the city's castle. I felt pangs of intense jealousy as I listened to my friends regale in their experiences--some were near pubs and went out with their families, others stayed in and drank. Everyone was having spring break, meanwhile I was having a visit with my foreign grandparents.
Afterwards, they picked me back up and we went out to dinner. We were having a nice time actually, but when a lull in the conversation hit I reached for my conversational Ace: I asked them how they met. Figuring that most couples, especially elderly ones, LOVE telling young folks about when they were young and in love, I thought I had just opened the door to a good couple of hours of conversation. Instead, you'd think I just tossed a dead rat into their Yorkshire puddings. They exchanged glances, she told a quick little story and then briskly changed the subject. We barely recovered but thankfully it was towards the end of the dinner. We headed home and I had another late-night TV watching session before heading to bed around 1.
Finally it was Sunday. And one of the things they advised us to bring to our families was a gift from our hometown. Being from the Jersey shore I thought salt-water taffy would be nice. I wanted to shoot myself in the foot as I handed these poor folks a big box of pull-your-teeth-out candy. They were nice enough, saying they'd give some (or I'm sure all) of it to their kids and grandkids.
As they drove me back to the school and we said our goodbyes, I couldn't say it was terrible. They were kind and hospitable, certainly nice enough. I'll never forget them for that (and the fact they taught me about Brittany and proved that Fate has a sense of humor). And I wanted to believe they'd remember me as well as that singer. But more likely I'm gonna be like that taffy...something sweet that lingers for a while yet a bit difficult to swallow.
Here's what I mean...
Episode 1: "Home Sweet yet Uncomfortable Home"
When I was preparing to study abroad to England I was told that part of the program required a weekend home visit with an actual English family. At first I became incredibly nervous. Granted it's not a terribly foreign country, but I was already feeling the high-school fear of making friends but add on top a heaping pile of spending-a-weekend-with-a-bunch-of-strangers-that-are-forced-to-feed-and-shelter-me. But when I was told that often people are paired off to one family I was able to relax. I figured, as bad as it could be at least I wouldn't suffer alone.
As time went on I kept hoping that by some overlook they would forget all about the visit. But, of course, they didn't and the day arrived.
We all gathered outside where the buses usually were. I stood around with my friends and soon the families began arriving. I noticed younger parents and some hip looking 30 and 40 yr olds. I began to think maybe the weekend wouldn't be too bad. Little by little my fellow students were picked away until I was standing alone. I stood holding my pathetic little backpack as it got darker and darker. I felt like an orphan waiting for my new family to come get me and they forgot the date. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, watching the program directors go back and forth to figure out what was happening, and hoping that I might be able to just go back to my tiny shoebox dorm room a small station wagon finally pulled up. And out popped a gray-haired couple. My hope of a pair of party-goers quickly evaporated.
I joined them into their car and we actually made pleasant conversation. She was originally from Brittany, a small region of northwestern France with alot of connections to England (the name translated means "small Britain" I think she said). Actually, the husband didn't talk too much, which is fine but it just added extra pressure on me and the wife. Fortunately, she was talkative, just not really for anything about me. She kept telling me about their last student-visitor who was a singer. I told her about how I was an aspiring writer or teacher or whatever to try and compete with that (which didn't totally work). Instead I decided to take the role of talk-show host and just sputter out question after question like a damn computer survey (which did work).
They turned in around 9, but being in Friday Night mode I didn't feel tired so I stayed up until nearly 2 a.m. watching TV.
The next day they dropped me back into the town to meet up with the group for a tour of the city's castle. I felt pangs of intense jealousy as I listened to my friends regale in their experiences--some were near pubs and went out with their families, others stayed in and drank. Everyone was having spring break, meanwhile I was having a visit with my foreign grandparents.
Afterwards, they picked me back up and we went out to dinner. We were having a nice time actually, but when a lull in the conversation hit I reached for my conversational Ace: I asked them how they met. Figuring that most couples, especially elderly ones, LOVE telling young folks about when they were young and in love, I thought I had just opened the door to a good couple of hours of conversation. Instead, you'd think I just tossed a dead rat into their Yorkshire puddings. They exchanged glances, she told a quick little story and then briskly changed the subject. We barely recovered but thankfully it was towards the end of the dinner. We headed home and I had another late-night TV watching session before heading to bed around 1.
Finally it was Sunday. And one of the things they advised us to bring to our families was a gift from our hometown. Being from the Jersey shore I thought salt-water taffy would be nice. I wanted to shoot myself in the foot as I handed these poor folks a big box of pull-your-teeth-out candy. They were nice enough, saying they'd give some (or I'm sure all) of it to their kids and grandkids.
As they drove me back to the school and we said our goodbyes, I couldn't say it was terrible. They were kind and hospitable, certainly nice enough. I'll never forget them for that (and the fact they taught me about Brittany and proved that Fate has a sense of humor). And I wanted to believe they'd remember me as well as that singer. But more likely I'm gonna be like that taffy...something sweet that lingers for a while yet a bit difficult to swallow.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Babyphobia
I was doing my usual status update scroll (where I sift through the 300+ comments and updates to kill time and find out what people are up to without feeling the pressure of asking) a while ago and noticed a girl I went to college with had a kid.
At first I wondered if she was just babysitting all the time, or if maybe it was a younger sibling. But when she seemed to be in cute poses and mentioned all the time I finally figured it out. However I still have hard time believing it.
Not that I think this person (or any one of my friends that have kids) would be an unfit parent, its the fact that I can't believe I have friends who HAVE kids.
For the longest time the only people I knew who had children were my aunts and uncles. And then eventually my cousins got married and started their families, but that was still ok because they were considered "older".
But people my age? My friends? It boggles my mind. Seeing people I know use their reproductive abilities is like seeing a former Amish guy using a toaster--sure he could if he use it if he wanted to, but it still seems somewhat unnatural.
It's not that I dislike kids. In fact babysitting was my main source of income from ages 13-15. The truth is, I'm afraid of kids. And here's why.
1. They're delicate--I'm not what you'd call a total klutz, but I'm a bit mindless. I walk into walls that are literally right in front of me, trip over wires that are blatantly exposed, and I'm not a great catcher. So the fact that these little beings can be hurt in a number of horribly simple ways freaks me out. That's why I never ask to hold kids and always hesitate to reach for a wandering child. Also, they're delicate mentally. I fear I'll slip on a curse or tasteless joke and scar the poor kid.
2. They're honest--I doesn't take a kid long to make their mind up about you and it takes even less time for them to tell you about it. Whenever I am around kids I feel like I am being subjected to the most brutal interrogation, I literally break into a sweat trying like a criminal to make simple, resolute and most importantly, pleasing statements.
3. They're little replicas of their parents--I realize that, depending on what school of thought you subscribe to, people might argue this point. What I mean specifically is that kids are part of your friends, and if their kids don't like you, how can your friends any longer? It's an added pressure to make sure those kids approve of you, otherwise you might be looking at dodged phone calls and cancelled plans.
Thankfully, due to my friend Kelly's great son, my cousins' sweet babies, and my meager educational experience, I have learned to ease-up around kids...somewhat. I'll probably always clam up when a baby is being passed around, or make my voice so high it makes Minnie Mouse sound like a baritone just to get a kid to smile for me.
But who knows, if that stork comes looking for me someday hopefully I'll be grown up and more mature like my counterparts. Until then, I'll be content to keep walking into walls or slipping on floors with only myself to worry about.
At first I wondered if she was just babysitting all the time, or if maybe it was a younger sibling. But when she seemed to be in cute poses and mentioned all the time I finally figured it out. However I still have hard time believing it.
Not that I think this person (or any one of my friends that have kids) would be an unfit parent, its the fact that I can't believe I have friends who HAVE kids.
For the longest time the only people I knew who had children were my aunts and uncles. And then eventually my cousins got married and started their families, but that was still ok because they were considered "older".
But people my age? My friends? It boggles my mind. Seeing people I know use their reproductive abilities is like seeing a former Amish guy using a toaster--sure he could if he use it if he wanted to, but it still seems somewhat unnatural.
It's not that I dislike kids. In fact babysitting was my main source of income from ages 13-15. The truth is, I'm afraid of kids. And here's why.
1. They're delicate--I'm not what you'd call a total klutz, but I'm a bit mindless. I walk into walls that are literally right in front of me, trip over wires that are blatantly exposed, and I'm not a great catcher. So the fact that these little beings can be hurt in a number of horribly simple ways freaks me out. That's why I never ask to hold kids and always hesitate to reach for a wandering child. Also, they're delicate mentally. I fear I'll slip on a curse or tasteless joke and scar the poor kid.
2. They're honest--I doesn't take a kid long to make their mind up about you and it takes even less time for them to tell you about it. Whenever I am around kids I feel like I am being subjected to the most brutal interrogation, I literally break into a sweat trying like a criminal to make simple, resolute and most importantly, pleasing statements.
3. They're little replicas of their parents--I realize that, depending on what school of thought you subscribe to, people might argue this point. What I mean specifically is that kids are part of your friends, and if their kids don't like you, how can your friends any longer? It's an added pressure to make sure those kids approve of you, otherwise you might be looking at dodged phone calls and cancelled plans.
Thankfully, due to my friend Kelly's great son, my cousins' sweet babies, and my meager educational experience, I have learned to ease-up around kids...somewhat. I'll probably always clam up when a baby is being passed around, or make my voice so high it makes Minnie Mouse sound like a baritone just to get a kid to smile for me.
But who knows, if that stork comes looking for me someday hopefully I'll be grown up and more mature like my counterparts. Until then, I'll be content to keep walking into walls or slipping on floors with only myself to worry about.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Freaking Facebook...
While doing some puppy shopping I found this picture. This damn dog is so ridiculously cute it's retarded, and figured I'd share it on facebook.
The problem with me is I always seem to lolly-gag when deciding what to post, as if it is some terrible and meaningful decision. Whereas most people don't hesitate a second to post what they ate for dinner last night or insist on posting literally every 10 mins (you know who you are), for me I feel like I'm saying "hey world, it's me and this is what I have to say about something random." And so I have mini panic-attacks whenever I think about something to post. I'm probably over-thinking this way too much, aren't I? Aren't I?? (p.s. 'aren't' is such a weird word, it doesn't look right even spelled correctly b/c it still looks like one of those archaic and obviously adopted words taken from another language)
Plus, I have the added pressure of being a former English major (and teacher) so I am obsessed with making sure my grammar is flawless and spelling is correct (it takes me 10 min just to make sure a 6 word status update is right). I've got friends still in the biz, and I always worry they'll call me out on it ("Uh Kris, it's spelled 'relevant' not 'relevent' and you made a comma splice in your complex sentence"..ahh English humor...)
Otherwise I have even been so frustrated to write something witty or topical that I'll press the Send only to look back and see a mistake. Then I feel like an idiot going back and deleting my own freaking post hoping 1. no one already saw it and 2. won't notice that I literally went back and wrote the exact thing but corrected.
But for this pic, I had something clever and funny in mind, but again I agonized over whether or not I should post it. I also worry that I'll offend the wrong people with my sometimes "dirty" humor. Not the whole public, mind you. I could give a crap about offending face-less strangers.
More likely would be extended and younger family members (who might not appreciate my bawdy humor) or my more religious friends (who have hopefully learned to ignore that part of my personality with a light chuckle and gentle tap on my shoulder as if to say "yes yes, I'm sure it will still be funny as you burn for eternity") lol.
So this is what I wanted to say...
"Wouldn't it be great if this was the face of God? Church attendance would be up because it would consist of playing with puppies every Sunday in honor of Him and hearing about priests' heavy petting wouldn't be a bad thing"
or something to that affect. Damnit, now that I read it it doesn't even sound that bad. So glad I wasted perfectly good worry on that.
Ahh who am I kidding, more will be on the way as soon as I post this. Now to spell check for an hour...
Thursday, April 8, 2010
P.B. and Me
I was at work a few weeks ago and had a deep profound realization. No, it had nothing to do with what I was "working" on (I daresay there's little room for epiphanies while verifying thousands of international names--yet this job quite literally pulled me from the brink of total financial disaster and for that I am thoroughly grateful).
While listening to the radio everyday around 12, I wait for the sound of the "Crank it Up!" that signals the 12 Noon Hairball. Like one of Pavlov's dogs I know that sound means I get to sift through my ghettoriffic blue plastic shopping bag containing my lunch.
By the way, lunch is an overstatement. I've been trying to shed a few pounds so what I actually have is an assortment of snacks--basically just enough food so I don't start chewing on pens or the keyboard.
I pulled out the smaller plastic bag which held a plastic fork (I realize I am single-handedly putting back all the carbon footprints everyone nowadays seems to be trying to minimize, but I tend to have the same mentality best explained in a quote by Drew Carey, "F*** the grandkids, I'm cold now") that was covered with peanut butter.
Now you have to understand, peanut butter (which shall henceforth be referred to as "p.b.") and I go way back. Somewhere in middle school I acquired an aversion to cold cuts, condiments, etc. Basically anything normal people eat for lunch makes me physically ill. I remember a time with my first boyfriend when we went to visit his grandmother. She wanted to make us lunch (which is always a case of awkwardness for me and have since learned to avoid lunch at people's houses). Mike tried to explain to her that I wasn't a big "cold cuts" fan. Her suggestion? "I'll cut up that meat pie." I sometimes make the mistake that all people don't have my brain so I was thinking 'Oh a meat pie, whew, that'll be served hot.' When she went to the fridge and cut a chunky wedge of an ice-cold meat product I thought I was going to vomit in my mouth. I actually did get close once because I kept swallowing mouthfuls with huge gulps of water and nearly choked.
Thankfully there was p.b. God (or whomever your preferable deity) bless p.b.! I was relieved to actually have found something to eat at lunchtime. I can say without fear of exaggeration that I ate the same thing for lunch everyday from K-8th grade. Even at home, my family always laughed at my predictability: chips or something equivalent, a piece of fruit, cookies, and the all-important peanut butter sandwich. I was like a sociopath, meticulous to each detail. My sisters thought I was weird, my parents thought I was endearing (I hope).
Even whenever things got weird or distant between us, my dad knew my habits. I'd come home, make my version of Lunchables and he'd make his. It was like a bridge for us, made of creamy p.b. Aww thats either cute or depressing.
And this is what came to mind as I sat in my swivel chair at my desk. I hadn't yet mastered a way to logically transport p.b. without it getting on everything. The fork idea was short-lived. I sat there with a celery stick trying to scrape every last smear and I suddenly realized how I must look from the outside. Hunched over trying not make a mess, a celery stick held carefully--I probably looked like a crack-head trying to get a final hit off their spoon or however that whole thing works. Oh well, addictions are addictions I guess.
But unlike crack, p.b. has only enriched my life more. Not that I would ever/have ever done crack. But I'm still sure it doesn't enrich your life. You know what, let's get away from the whole crack-thing.
So yes, it is my obsession. P.b. makes everything taste better, it can be warm or cold, it's a cheap filler, and can be eaten for breakfast, lunch or dinner. I love how you can still smell it on your hands, and how it can be both salty and sweet, crunchy and smooth.
Ahh p.b...you're stuck to more than the roof of my mouth...you're stuck to my heart...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)