How to Sauté Conservatives

UPDATE: Haynes Management and Carl Sorabella

2011-06-29T16:42:00.000-04:00

Things seem to be slowing down in the media coverage of this case, but as my commenters noted, Haynes took their sight down, and this article while making a valiant attempt to see both sides of the story, points out that Haynes Management's site went down for a while, and that they have received over 100 bad reviews on Yelp this month. There is also a petition with over 13,000 signatures.

The most interesting development is this joint statement from Haynes Management and Carl Sorabella stating:

JOINT STATEMENT
HAYNES MANAGEMENT, INC.
CARL & KATHY SORABELLA

Carl Sorabella left his position at Haynes Management by mutual agreement. Mr. and Mrs. Sorabella regret any perception otherwise that may have arisen. To allow Mr. and Mrs. Sorabella to focus on Mrs. Sorabella’s health, neither Haynes nor Mr. and Mrs. Sorabella will be commenting further on this matter.
###

I'd love to know the details of this. I have no facts to report as to how it came about, but I have personal speculation. It seems to me that in order to recover their damaged PR without admitting to any wrong, that Haynes would either have to bribe or threaten the Sorabella's into making that statement, and considering the amount of public support for the couple, threatening wouldn't be very safe for the company, unless they had some massive skeletons to haul out. But I just don't think a middle aged accountant at a small real estate company is likely to have skeletons that big. So this makes me think (and hope) that a quiet financial settlement was most likely reached. Let's hope it's enough to take care of the family through their struggle with disease.

And don't let them fall from you mind just because the sensationalism is over. Cancer is a heart breaking, torturous process, for the victim and the family, no matter how much money is in your pocket. Tout your support for them as loudly as you did against Haynes, and let them know that we are wishing them well and keeping them in our thoughts.

Tell Hayne Management What You Think

2011-06-16T11:49:00.000-04:00

In my previous post this morning, Massachusetts man, Carl Sorabella was fired when he informed his boss at Haynes Management in Wellesley, MA that his wife had been diagnosed with lung cancer and was expected to live only months.

Since then I have located contact information for Haynes Management. I encourage you to write the company and state your disapproval of their behavior. (Please note however, that the writer of this blog does not condone or encourage any sort of bodily threats. This is a business matter, if a heinous one, and violence has no place here.)

G. Arnold Haynes, President- gahaynes@haynesmanagement.com
Mary R. Butler, Vice President- mbutler@haynesmanagement.com

Phone- 781 235 4300
Fax- 781 237 1408

Also, here is a handy link to Haynes Management's contact info to pass on to friends and colleagues: http://www.haynesmanagement.com/contact/

Below is a copy of the letter that I sent to Mr. Haynes and Ms. Butler.

Mr. Haynes,

I am a social media correspondent for a mid-sized web marketing company in the northeast. Independent of my employment related social media projects, I run 3 well received blogs, several Facebook pages and Twitter accounts, and have a reach of hundreds of thousands of readers. I am writing to let you know that I fully intend on using every single outlet available to me to make the public aware of your reprehensible treatment and dismissal of Carl Sorabella.

When a man works for a company for 14 years, and does what, I assume due to his length of employment and the fact that he received a raise last November, is a satisfactory job, when he devotes so much of his life to the company it seems horrific that you should banish him at a time when his employment is most needed. Why apply your talents to loyally building up a single company if they are only going to abandon you the moment you have the slightest hardship? When a man asks to continue to do his job and also the ability to care for his family, it seems immoral to behave as your company has. What actions should you have preferred that Mr. Sorabella take? Would it have been preferable that he shun and ignore his wife after her terminal diagnosis was given? Is that the sort of moral character you would prefer your employees to possess?

I will be using every opportunity to share this man's tragic story on all social networks, with everyone on my email lists, on the radio shows I am scheduled on, with every person I meet, and everywhere else I can spread the word until I hear that you have done your duty by your long time employee Carl Sorabella.

And do not fear that I am only momentarily angered and will lose motivation. I have means as well as impetus, and I will not only help the Sorabellas, but also make sure everyone possible knows how your company treated them.

Sincerely,

Judith McCloskey

Appalled American

Massachusetts Man Fired Over Wife's Cancer Diagnosis

2011-06-16T11:34:00.000-04:00

When Carl Sorabella told his employer of 14 years, Haynes Real Estate Management of Wellesley Hills, that his wife had been diagnosed with lung cancer, they fired him.

WTF? In this article from WCVB Boston, Sorabella details how he had gone to his employer after learning his wife of 23 years, Kathy, had been diagnosed with lung cancer and had been told she had mere months to live. Facing this most horrid last roller coaster together, Kathy went on disability, and Carl spoke to his long time employer to inform them of the situation and make arrangements to work nights and weekends to fulfill his job duties and still be able to care for his wife and take her to the numerous and expensive treatments and appointments.

"When I told my boss, she said 'We were thinking about laying you off.' I thought, 'You can't do that,'" Sorabella told WCVB 5 in Boston.

By the end of the week he was told not to worry, but on Monday morning Mr. Sorbella found a note on his desk, firing him. Sorabella said the letter stated he was being laid off due to "workforce modifications." But one week after he was fired, he says he saw a listing for his job on the company website.

"She said, 'It's business. I'm running a company here, and I need to make sure the department runs.' And I argued that I would make sure the company runs," Sorabella said.

As Haynes Management has less than 50 employees, it is not subject to state and federal laws concerning sickness such as the Family and Medical Leave Act.

What You Can Do

Unfortunately, the Sorabellas are not alone in their unfortunate treatment at the hands of an employer. I am going to use every outlet possible to spread the word about the heinous behavior of Haynes Management. Aside from keeping my blog readers updated on the Sorabellas, I am also regularly posting this information to Facebook, as well as on Twitter under the hashtags #Sorabella and #Haynes Management. It is important that the public understands the actions of this company.

More than just spreading the word of the low character of Haynes Management, there are things we can do to actually help the Sorabellas. Kathy's diagnosis has, thankfully, changed, and she has been given years, not months to live at this point. However, those precious few years come at a high cost to an already financially strained couple. My own family had the misfortune of nursing loved ones through cancer, and aside from the emotional hurricane of the disease and loss, the financial toll is considerable. My charge to you is to help me find if anyone has set up a ChipIn account for the Sorabellas. If we can't locate one by tomorrow, I'll launch one right here on How to Sauté Conservatives where we can all donate via PayPal, any amount. From 1 dollar to 100 it will make a difference. If enough people ChipIn just the amount of spare change in their pocket, it will make the Sorabella's future much less scary, and hopefully will help them to find better times.

Put a Bird On It

2011-03-27T03:35:00.000-04:00

I have been quite suspicious for a while that I may be turning into a Hipster. My retro mismatched wardrobe and penchant for reducing trash are strong indicators, however, I don't listen to a single band that you haven't heard of, I don't have an ugly hair cut, and I ate a sausage McMuffin yesterday morning on my way to work. While I'll admit I'm ashamed of my McMuffining, it made me feel less pretentious. And that made me more pretentious.

Anyway, here are the possibly hipeter-esque things I'm about lately.

1. Composting!

Yeah, composting motherfucker! I've got this sweet kitty litter bucket setup under my sink into which I dump all of my veggies and junk mail. It's got a carbon filter that can be washed and reused that cost about a buck at Home Depot, and it's cut my weekly trash from two bags down to less than one. I've been having to get creative about what to do with the finished compost product however. My house plants are full of it, as are my neighbors. (I had the great experience of knocking on my 90 year old neighbor lady's door offering a baggy of compost for her house plants, and having her ask 4 times why I wanted to give her dirt.) I've seen suggestions of "guerrilla fertilizing", i.e. dumping it on trees and plants in the public parks and whatnot, but I've been slow to embrace this method as the community isn't terribly hip to composting and might suspect me of making petunia bombs or something. Any suggestions are welcome.

2. ACM pod cast on iTunes

Totally awesome podcast features full length old movies. They have a great range from things like His Girl Friday, to The Brain That Wouldn't Die, 39 Steps, to The Wild Women of Wongo. Plus there are great silent movies too, featuring the greats like Buster Keaton, and they have serials like Captain America. Plus more westerns than you can shake a stick at, and they update all the time. I'm still working through my downloads from 4 months ago.

3. Trash Free Year

Jen Metz of Hawaii has vowed to recycle, compost, and reuse her way to no trash for the whole of 2011. She details her challenges in purchasing things without packaging, dining out, and even alternatives to things we normally discard, like toothbrushes and deodorant containers. While a little shy, I'm adopting many of her practices one by one, to try to work up to the goal.

4. Dottie Angel: A Challenge of the Utmost Kind

Dottie Angel is the dream persona of Tiff, a Brit with 4 kids and will to be happy. Her Challenge of the Utmost Kind is a one year project to buy only second hand or locally hand made clothing and home products to reuse what the world has (and she also has issues with big business that I won't get into here). I personally hit the thrift store as a first choice for whatever I need, and applaud this idea. Which brings me to another new found love....

5. The Cat's Pajama's

How adorable a name is that? It's a new thrift store back home that benefits the Dessin Animal Shelter. (I volunteered there when I was a teenager, it's a really tops rescue operation) Not only is it benefiting an organization I love, but it offers local alternative to the Salvation Army, which I completely abhor, and for which I will detail the reasons in an upcoming post. The Cat's Pajama's also has some great advantages over the city second hand shops I frequent. Due to the more rural community it's not picked over to death by hipsters (except me), additionally, due to the population mix, there are some real finds in what has been donated. There are some pretty nifty treasures that you just know some little old lady had tucked away for years. The last time I stopped in, I got a 50's era mirrored vanity tray identical to one my mother had, a snazzy real leather envelope purse, a Harry Potter jigsaw puzzle, a whole box of dishes (22 pieces total), a hand made afghan, and a real silver tray. I spent 14 dollars in total. I helped homeless animals, I helped the environment, I helped my wallet, and I helped my apartment get some super awesome new additions!

6. Wegman's 4 Cheese Alfredo Sauce.

It's not organic, it's not fat free, but it does only cost 1.98 and it's amazing. If you need to front, it tastes like you spent years in cooking classes. I shamelessly tell everyone my delicious secret.

7. Adventure Time

I only watch documentaries, the Daily Show, and cartoons, and I get the whole of entertainment there. Adventure Time is a 15 minute show that's on Mondays at 8 EST on the Cartoon Network. It has a boy named Finn with a sword and a dog named Jake that changes shapes. They save princesses, get in trouble, thwart witches, and have the smartest, most ridiculous writing on television. It's not Will Farrell-ridiculous for no reason, this is intelligent, slick, and awkward. WATCH IT. (there are also 2 re-runs on tuesdays at 8 pm. EST)

8. Sushi

Not the delicious, delicious food, the delicious, delicious person. I've recently re-acquired this lovely, and am quite pleased. It's less cranky than it used to be, and doesn't mind that I'm secretly having an affair with it's beard.

So the moral of the story is that life isn't all that bad, and I may or may not be a hipster.

Ever Since I Got Eyebrows My Head Explodes

2010-08-07T00:15:00.000-04:00

Indeed. Being a browed individual isn't all it's cracked up to be.

I probably shouldn't be writing right now because I'm feeling rather bitter, but one small bit of irony should be commented on. Much like DelhiRat declaring his love through a minute system, I had the experience of someone telling me that he cared about me and would support me whilst simultaneously telling me that my problems were invalid and ditching me because I was harshing his mellow. Now, while it is the inalienable right of any person to decide they don't give a shit about any other person and ditch them, it seems a bit mean and neurotic and 1984 ish to claim the exact opposite while you're doing it.

Ok, I'll fake happier tomorrow and give you something worth reading.

Chowdah, out.

Art Ghetto Deco Fabulous

2010-03-01T05:23:00.000-05:00

I just lofted my $1200 mattress and matching boxspring 15" off the ground with some five gallon paint buckets and added a bed skirt. Classy. Also, the three odd overpriced bed frames I own are watching me from the closet feeling very indignant. Surprisingly, it looks like a super tall super expensive set up. I'm going to put a piece of wood or some sucky curtain/giant photo combination behind my head and call it a day. A day that has brought me storage options. Yes.

I also managed to repaint my dresser, chest, desk and chair today. I've had the same furniture since I was three. (Hey, it's solid wood, it matches, and I didn't have to pay for it.) Instead of buying new bull crap particle board at Ikea and looking homeless (forget about the paint buckets for a minute) I just change the hardware and slap a fresh coat of white paint on it ever seven years or so. Once again, I thank my mother's forsight in purchasing furniture I could "grow with" and also in realizing I would be a broke ass actor that could not afford to buy a whole big grown up bedroom suit. Mom was psychic.

Does anyone know where I can purchase a hot pink dry erase pen? This is one of those obviously grave matters in my life.

AND the Somewhat Gelatinous B.L.O.B from Beyond the Grave (And Also The Grave Is In Outerspace) opened this week, with my surely Jeff Award winning fight choreography. It's fun, it's catchy, it's downright spiffy. Come see it wed-sat at 8:00pm at the Cornservatory 4210 N. Lincoln Ave, Chicago. Yay. Teenager/Young Adult friendly! (well, they do say GD it a lot, but other than that, it's cool. And besides, your 13 year old says much worse stuff than that when you're not around.)

Plus, after watching the show about six nights in a row during tech, I went to the second night of it with my friend MaidMary, and still found it adorable and funny. That's impressive. Afterward we went to get drinks with the cast. Did I mention I love this cast? Not only are they all terribly attractive, they're freaking awesome. Two of the drunker ones let me drive their 1990 Jag home and bought me a pie from McDonald's. Upstanding citizens, I assure you.

I got the part of Maid Marian in the Ren Faire fight cast. Woo hoo! Now I'm trying to figure out how to get airconditioning under that hoop skirt all summer...

And it is now officially March, and that's close enough to actual spring for me. Woo hoo!

Oh, and did I ever tell you that I'm an ordained minister? Seriously. I got it done on the internet in about five minutes. Yay America. I'm an Atheist minister, but it's cool because the church that ordained me supports not only the biggies like Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Taoism, etc, but also they specifically mention their support of Inter Faith beliefs, Atheism, and Jedi-ism. I love this Church because it is the most religiously offensive all inclusive thing I have ever heard of and I think it only exists as a website and a P.O. Box. Did I mention, yay America?

Gullible's Travels Recap

2009-12-31T18:41:00.002-05:00

-Saw Asianses at Bryn Mawr while discussing the virtues of twinkle lights.

-Lost in Dunmore

-Got fitted for a much smaller than expected gown.

-Dogs admired by dress lady

-Sushi bought me dinner

-Hid dogs inside restaurant. Successfully.

-Dogs pooped outside restaurant. Successfully.

-Raced a storm across PA at 100 mph.

-Chemical spill

-Closed Interstate

-Closed Detour

-Lackluster hotel room

-Dogs pooped

-Benny walked all over my head while I attempted to sleep.

-Got up on time

-Forgot favorite pillow at crappy hotel

-Ate pretzel for breakfast

-Ate Rolaids for brunch

-Missed turn for 80 in Ohio due to lack of signs. Because no one in Ohio can read anyway.

-Got $180.00 speeding ticket, which I deserved. Really, really deserved.

-Dogs pooped.

-Had to be in Indiana.

-Scrounged for toll booth change. Paid in pennies.

-Hate both Indiana and Illinois.

-Paid four bucks to drive over a bridge without water under it.

-Got to city at rush hour and have no parking spot.

-Found that roommate had strewn actual trash all over living room and kitchen. Classy.

-Chinchilla pooped.

-Gave up on legal parking.

I think that this is a sign that I was right and should stay at home watching movies with Sushi and planning wedding stuff.

Agoraphobic Falls From Such Great Heights

2009-12-29T01:21:00.002-05:00

I feel younger, I feel alive.

This place is magical, and it always has been. And I became a person here and then decided to walk away from it.

I don't make any sense to myself sometimes.

Nothing is forced here. There is plenty that's not perfect, but it's all natural. And I don't just mean the trees and the leaves and the rivers and the rocks. The people have that grace and unhurried nature that my mother had. Everything is part of the same world and the same system here and all is as it should be in that regard. I don't know enough words to describe it properly.

I went to the library today, and read a book. Then I went to the cemetery and wandered and cleaned my ancestors' stones and talked to my mother. Later, Sushi took me for a thick sweet supper of seafood and potatoes. I actually had to remember that I didn't have to "do" anything. I had to remember to drop the pace of Chicago, that it was not only unnecessary, but rude here. And I told Sushi about the library and he commented that I must not be anything like the library in Chicago. I tried to explain to him that I didn't go there because I was looking for massive amounts of information for research purposes. I wanted to go to the building. It's inside of an antebellum mansion called Seven Maples, and it's one of the most beautiful buildings I've ever entered. I wanted to go in and be near the marble fireplace and the curved oak stair rail, to walk past the granite hitching post outside. The people I know in Chicago don't know what a hitching post is, and they don't care that it's next to the original flagstone walk. The library replaced the original inner door, which saddens me. It had had the most ornate brass knob and lock plate I've ever seen, with craftsmanship and stability that made you feel secure and luxurious. It had the safety of time and wealth in its weight. I wanted to be near something beautiful.

That's what it is. This place is beautiful because it's old enough to be comfortable with itself. For an American town, it's past it's prime. It's been inhabited by Europeans for over 300 years, and the town hit its peak in the 1870's and has sewn all of its wild oats.

And I don't want to leave.

I grew up in this incubator of life and potential and magic, and it's exactly the same. I grew up in the 80's and 90's in the same world in which my mother grew up in the 50's. It's timeless, and it's impossible to feel anything but young in a place that has no age. I feel romantic, I feel beautiful, I feel loved.

So why can't I stay?

Because it will all disappear if I come back before my time. It's like some fabled afterworld. You can't come until you've done what you're alive to do or else it dies before your eyes.

So I have to work for it. I just want to take a little something with me, but they won't come.

And I found something I thought I had lost. I never thought I'd find it again. But it's here, and it's real and I can touch it and see it, and it makes me dizzy to think about it. I can't breathe. I'm terrified it'll disappear when I go, and I am weak enough to doubt my ability to survive the loss again. But how can I not take the risk? I never thought I'd get the chance...

I'm willing to risk myself here. I'm willing to get hurt. I feel something here.

And I don't know how to go back now.

Out of the Woodwork Crawl the Unoccupied Fancies of Flight

2009-12-09T01:52:00.003-05:00

I'm still thinking, dear reader. A lot. I'll let you know when I come to some sort of epiphany or rather, strong willed resolution.

But in the mean time, we'll talk about the concepts of productivity and destruction.

When overwhelmed, emotionally exhausted, scared, or confused, it is quite common for a person to be destructive to themselves, those around them, and the relationships between such. However, (one would hope) this is not usually the intention of the actions that create the destruction, just the careless result. We are all guilty of this behavior, and while it is not desirable nor noble, it is certainly common enough, and misnomered as "human nature".

I have never made any secret of my Atheism. (Or lack of 'belief' as some would call it.) Some of my more religious or spiritual friends ask how I can't believe in anything. I tell them, on the contrary, I believe in a great many things. I believe in facts. I believe in evidence. I believe in what I see. But where is the wonder? The beauty? The greatness? In humans. I believe in people.

This might not sound like an Earth shattering statement, or even one that is sufficient to the question, but it is. I don't mean that I believe that people will always do what's right. I quite often feel that our society misuses the term of "right" for the current church or government agenda. When I state that I believe in people, I mean that I am constantly rejoicing at the wonders of man, the abilities, the inventions, the art, the performance, the creations. As a race we have achieved the unimaginable. But I am wise enough to not give credit where it is not due. When looking at the dead beat dad of 5 children and 4 mothers who has been on unemployment chronically long before the wars, and who feels that society owes him, yet he never has the urge to take action, educate himself or attempt change, I must say that he is not the one who has achieved anything. But taken the fact that our society expects another to work to provide him with his unemployment, welfare, beer money, and that that same provider not only suffers this injustice but still has energies and joy to create the miracle of steel rails, or binary code, or a mind reeling book, the feats of the latter are all the more dazzling.

And it is not any unseen power that enabled Jonas Salk to discover the Polio vaccine, and left another to abuse his children into horrid lifelong deficiencies. Salk worked to produce. He worked joyfully for the sake of working. He worked because he wanted to know. A thirst for knowledge is not ingrained in all of humankind, but in those who have it, it most often comes with a need to create. I always thought that the bible had missed by just an inch or so in the statement that we were "created in god's image". If that had been true then it should have stated that what made a god and man similar to each other and different from animals was our need to create. But as it is, god was created in our image, as we are his creators. Regardless, either system points to the same idea.

Humans exist to create.

The truths I know as fact are that you cannot deny your past, you cannot ignore your surroundings, you are the one responsible for your life at any moment, and you are meant to create.

Thus, that brings us to productivity.

In everything I try to ask myself, "What is the most productive thing I can do?" It may be in utilizing a vacation to take a class toward my theatrical career, or it may be something as simple as jogging on my way to the post office to help build my metabolism. I falter, of course, but I try to remember to make something in every situation.

Take a look at the situation with Sculpaerrk that has been the subject of my last two posts. After my initial nauseated reaction subsided, I have to ask myself what to do with this knowledge. Revenge is very popular in daytime television, and looks rather dramatic when delivered saucily and publicly, but what good will it do me or anyone else in the long run? You may say that I'll feel better or that Sculpaerrk will learn his lesson, but both of those are wrong. I may feel smug for a little bit after the incident, but it hasn't improved anything for me, and most likely I'll just have more negative feelings and a more uncomfortable work environment until the show is over. And let's face it, he won't learn jack. No one changes unless they want to, and I'm quite sure that his twisted little system seems quite satisfactory to him. So really, what good would yelling publicly about his sick, mean, psychotic personality do?

But it does seem an awfully big deal to ignore completely. So here's the question I should ask, what can I do with this information that will improve something? I could look at the selfless, almost "Christian", concept of trying to save CandyPole from pain and humiliation. Or trying to help PAAP realize that she deserves to be treated better, and that it is not her fault as he said. And me? I already gained some wonderful girlfriends through this horrid process, which is lovely. But what can I build that will be be the most beneficial and helpful to all?

That's what I'm working on.

And I don't mean blackmailing Sculpaerrk into washing my car every week or something. Blackmail is negative, obviously. And dishonest, and while helping Sculpaerrk become a better human being really isn't of any interest to me, causing his already messed up mind to become more angry twisted and destructive really isn't what I want to do.

I'll let you know when I've made lemonade out of this big sucky lemon.

And as a little side note, here's a real life example of productivity vs. destruction. I've been posting these thoughts to try to sort out things so I can end up with aforementioned lemonade. However, that apparently offends someone and they needed to randomly and without personal interest send some hateful, unproductive words to me.

Oh, and I'd like everyone to know that I haven't rudely pretended this man fell off of the face of the planet. That wouldn't have helped me emotionally to have that void full of anger. I quite often provide him with small income through camera rental fees, and a few weeks ago provided him with transportation for a show full of costumes out west when I had a rather full schedule, and haven't asked him to make good on returning the favor.

Blogger Comment

FROM: LES

December 7, 2009

I'm really sorry to say this, Judy, but I can't imagine that anyone but you is surprised by this [Sculpaerrk's actions].

I'm not voting for myself in the poll, btw.

LES



From: Judy To: LES Sent: Tue, December 8, 2009 12:03:05 AM Subject: LES I thought you un-friended me on Facebook so you wouldn't have to be reminded of my existence and activities. So why are you stalking my blog and leaving snarky comments? It seems counterintuitive to your point.

JudyWhat

From: LES

To: Judy What

Sent: Tues, December 8, 2009 2:55 pm CST

The comment wasn't meant to be snarky. It was meant to be sad.

You know full well that I'm not concerned about anyone or anything in the world but myself.
Stop publishing stuff about me and I'll stop reading. Intuitive.

I guess I should take it as a point of pride that I'm your second rejected comment ever.

I thought of asking him what the point was in contacting me just to be condescending,what he was getting out of it, but I realized that whatever his answer, I wouldn't gain any interest or information. You could say that posting this on here is a negative petty action, but isn't using it as an illustration point (without any real names) making the interaction useful and therefore beneficial in someway?

And I would never reject a comment that helps any point that I've been trying to make. :)

Lemonade, mother fuckers, lemonade. :)

You Are A Lie and You Made Me A Liar.

2009-12-07T02:31:00.005-05:00

This time the title is not a witty play on words.

So what do I do now? I mean, personally, I don't want to be in the same room with him.

When PrettyAsAPage was telling me about the night with Sculpaerrk and AcidicSeratonin, I was not only physically nauseated (i'm not really a delicate flower emotionally or physically, it takes a hell of a lot to get that kind of response) but I actually, in all seriousness, had to fight the urge to reach across the table and beat my fists into his face. We all know people who we think are morally disgusting or creepy, but I've never actually had anyone make my skin crawl by just sitting there.

And I realized that I actually DEFENDED the fucking cretin to not only my family, but to a mutual friend of ours who was trying to warn me but had no evidence, just a gut reaction. Which matched mine. And I ignored. Good Lord.

And there's another small point, Sculpaerrk is religious, supposedly, and that's why he doesn't have technical intercourse often. And this sort of hypocrisy is another large reason I'm leery of religion. If you can be this hateful and dangerous and sick and then claim that you're better than everyone else because you believe in some stories and go to a big building with a bunch of other people once a week, it is the most immoral system I've ever heard of.

And I normally only worry about how I am involved and let others learn about their own world and problems, but let's face it, this is not normal. And I've been in CandyPole's position before. Would I have liked to know then what I know now?

Definitely. Would I have believed it?
Well,... yeah probably. Everything I've learned is just an affirmation and elaboration of the same things I suspected from day one. Ok, the intensity of the hateful twisted sickness is beyond what even my mind came up with. So is it my responsibility to tell her? She's going to be hurt either way, but would she be more or less humiliated if I told her so she could make an informed decision? Or is it wrong to interfere in someone's relationship? But what if one of them won't call it a relationship, just "hanging out"? Or what if he's caught some awful disease that he's been spreading? Or should I just forget the whole damn headache and be glad I'm out of it now and he won't ever dare bother me again?

Well, no. The answer to that last one is definitely "no." I've personally been wronged, lied to, endangered, manipulated, humiliated, and cuckolded. And so have more than half a dozen other women, several of whom I know and care about. It's pretty damn hard to ignore that part.

I've got some thinking to do.

Also, I don't put real names on here since the whole Dixie thing, but I do post photos. Mainly around Halloween. And I use post labels. I'm just saying, I can't stop you from finding his picture if you really want to find it that badly.

Oh. My. Blog. (OMB!)

2009-12-07T02:16:00.002-05:00

Have you ever had a day when your life feels like a movie? How about an overly contrived movie? With possibly Mel Gibson in it? And there's no way on Earth that any of that could possibly be real?

Or maybe you remember having all sorts of weird suspicions and intuitive aversions to someone and their actions and you talk yourself into believe that it's your imagination getting the better of you and no one is really that devious and messed up?

Well, it's not a movie, and your gut was right. And it's sick and unreal.

So here's the long and the short of it. Once upon a time, I "hung out" with Sculpaerrk. Most sane human beings would have referred to this action as "dating" or "seeing", but he called it "hanging out". I certainly hope something that, I am ashamed to admit was that "intimate" isn't what everyone means when they ask to hang out, or most of my friends have a different agenda than I suspected.

Anyway, I "hung out" with Sculpaerrk for what we'll refer to as part of month 3, month 4, 5, and part of month 6, with a nice little cameo at the end of the latter. I was aware that he had dated a girl I knew, PrettyAsAPage in month 2 and the beginning of month 3.

The first time he took me out, I thought we were just hanging out and pointed out that it would be romantic if he weren't dating someone, and he tells me he's done with PAAP, and from his tone, it didn't sound like he was happy about it. I made a phone call in the bathroom to confirm it, because even at that point, I didn't trust him apparently.

Then we "hung out" for a bit, he got really offended when I said that I had just thought he was kind of just a player, and actually made me apologize. Stupidly, I did, while he proclaimed his love of Jesus. Then he gets me to do all this work for some stupid show, treats me like crap, and hangs all over this girl who we'll call AcidicSeratonin at a party. Then he "walks her to the lobby".

Bull-fucking-shit.

I send him a text calling him a dick. He gets all offended, of course, and calls me the next morning asking what that is all about. I don't really have the energy to give a shit, so I make some half assed answers feigning my concern, and he's like, well it sounded kind of crazy you know. And I actually start wondering if my perception is messed up or something.

Well the last time he kisses me is the last day of month 6. I get over his weird control issues and move on with my life.

Fast forward all the way to this show I'm doing this fall.

Sculpaerrk, PrettyAsAPage, and myself are in it. PAAP has the boyfriend she dumped Sculpaerrk for. Also a sweet girl we'll call CandyPole is in the show, and a girl named MaidMary.

Sculpaerrk is currently "hanging out" with CandyPole. I thought this had started after month 6. But, like when I was hanging out with him, he doesn't want anyone to know, or see them.

And throughout the rehearsal process, I've been giving MaidMary a ride on my way home. She and I have chatted about things, and due to my loud and open nature, I complained about how weird and a little skeevy things with Sculpaerrk were once. And then I start learning a lot of things from all corners.

Eventually, MaidMary tells me that she too "hung out" with him. In Month 1. And he dropped her for PrettyAsAPage, after telling her that he had no interest what so ever in PAAP. And by dropped, I mean, started seeing PAAP and didn't mention it to MaidMary.

Sculpaerrk claims to really love with PrettyAsAPage. But when he started seeing her and she asked about MaidMary, he said he never had anything to do with MaidMary (whom he'd known for years btw.)

Then PAAP dumps him to go back to her old boyfriend. But last night she told me that before she dumped him, she had the experience of being asleep in a room after a party with Sculpaerrk and AcidicSeratonin and hearing the latter give him a blowjob. While the woman he supposedly loved was right there. AND PAAP told me it was her fault for not stopping it. He told her that.

SO THEN

I realize that I was not fucking crazy about the crap after that party with AcidicSeratonin and that he'd been fucking around with her the whole time. AND I just found out that he and CandyPole started "hanging out" WAAAAAAAAYYYYYY before he and I were done. And I'm sure that CandyPole is as completely unaware of that as I was.

Also, there was a fat blond girl in Month 4. And a tall brunette in Month 6. (And those are only the ones I know about. Seven girls in six months, that KNOW EACH OTHER, and god only knows who he's "hanging out with" from school and work and other groups of friends.)

Then PAAP broke up with her boyfriend two days ago. I told MaidMary I'd give ten days tops before Sculpaerrk was all over her and just dragging poor CandyPole along for ego insurance. I was wrong. Less than a day.

While discussing this with MaidMary and PrettyAsAPage at the bar near the cast and Sculpaerrk on Friday, PAAP calls him over and asks him point blank in front of everyone "Why did you tell me that you never kissed MaidMary?" and he looks at me and then PAAP and blatantly lies "I never kissed her."

PAAP says to me, "I can't stand liars."

Then Sculpaerrk gets stoned and asks MaidMary and I if there's a conspiracy against him. MaidMary smiles politely and I told him that he smoked too much pot and had too big of an ego.

At the show the next day he keeps trying to playfully scold me, "I'm mad at you." I ignored him. By the third time he said it, I turned and replied, "I know. I don't care." He was very quiet and avoided people after that.

That night Sculpaerrk spends the evening with an arm around PAAP's chair while an understandable confused CandyPole is left by herself again, and HE acts like no one is giving him dirty looks or muttering "Poor CandyPole."

When I spent time keeping CandyPole company, because to be honest, she is a really nice girl. And I know how fucking awful and confusing that situation is. And how embarrassing when you understand it. Sculpaerrk is shooting me freaking daggers. (We actually decided I'm going to go to this cool class with Candy, but that's just for fun and because I like her, and doesn't really have anything to do with the rest of this.)

Well he keeps ignoring CandyPole and when she goes to leave he's on the other side of the room alone with PAAP, and CandyPole (plucky little thing!) marches over there to tell him she's leaving and he doesn't even fucking kiss her good bye. Asshole.

Then PAAP told me the story about AcidicSeratonin while Sculpaerrk was a few feet away attempting to eavesdrop, and when he finally asks what we're talking about, she says "I told her about that cast party."
I actually saw his eyes widen, "What cast party?"

PAAP replies simply, "The one where AcidicSeratonin gave you a blowjob while I was sleeping."

He just sat there.

I have never actually felt nauseated by another human being before. I had to fight the urge to jump over the table and smash his face in. He is sick. Very, very sick.

But when I told him he was a 'ho all that time ago, he said he wasn't because he doesn't have actual intercourse very often. Because he loves Jesus.

This is why I think religion is bad. Because of twisted shit like that.

And.... now what?

I Just Made My First Comment Rejection!

2009-11-29T04:47:00.002-05:00

#1 It was anonymous. That's lame.

#2 They said that capitalism was socialism for some and capitalism for others. That leads to a firm though algebraic spiral that states that eventually all capitalism equals socialism. And that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Some Russians and Shirley McLain take issue with that.

#3 I'm obviously not trying to get popular here (I mean, have you read some of the awful shit I write?), so your politically uninformed, cowardly unsigned typing can "suck big hairy balls" as you so eloquently put it. :)

Now that I'm done being a bitch for no reason, let's talk about something that is important to everyone:

MY SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!

"ARFTCo's

ANOTHER YEAR WITHOUT A WITTY TITLE

Chicago Christmas Spectacular!

A Reasonable Facsimile Theatre Company announces the third year of their New Play Festival

Prime Time, Friday & Saturday nights at 8:00 pm,

December 4, 2009- January 9, 2010

@ The Cornservatory

4210 N Lincoln Ave, Chicago, IL.

Two Ticket Special= 2 nights for $25.00

Tickets are $15.00, $12.00 for students and seniors.

Make reservations online at www.arftco.com, or call 773-418-4475.

Group rates are available.

The Show: Did you really want to sit through yet another version of Christmas ghosts? Or would you rather

wait for the Christmas coming of 'The Weed Guy", the holiday hope of three lonely Lincoln Parkers? Watch Nancy Drew and chums solve the biggest Christmas caper of all time! Or maybe the tale of an Elf balloon sexually harassing a Hello Kitty during the annual department store parade is more your cup of eggnog?

All these and more holiday delights await you in ARFTCo's Christmas New Play Festival. Between scenes you'll be serenaded with merry tunes like "We Three Queens of Peoria Are" by ARFTCo's Holiday Host! Join us for one great lineup on Friday and another on Saturday - we’ll stuff your stocking full of naughty and nice delights!

The Process: Out third year of great reviews and audience response has brought us over 100 scripts from which to cull these holiday gems! ARFTCo asked its ensemble members to submit personal Christmas photos … from at home and around Chicago. We posted them on our website and invited playwrights to use the photos as inspiration. 16 short plays and a collection of holiday songs are presented in a variety format, with different shows on Friday and Saturday nights. New, original works by produced writers combine to create a show that is a bright, shiny new look at our home town Christmas. Come home to Chicago this Christmas!

Directed by Michael Buino

Starring: Josh Ballard, Jaime Black, Lucy Carr*, Miguel Cohen, Miquela Cruz, Angela DeMarco, Samantha Garcia*, Susan Gaspar, Tina Haglund*, Benjamin Haile, Steve Hickson*, Shane Hill, Emily Kane, Judy What, Allison Paige*, William R.Riley, Karen Shimmin, Steve Truncale*, and David Wilhelm."

Have They Naught Fondu?

2009-11-29T04:31:00.000-05:00

"And after a while you can be like, sir, i am a delicate flower; i am too weak to keep riding you reverse cowgirl. i shall lay back now and think of England."

The Czech Republic is a strange place full of hot blond men, no canned soup, and peanut butter that no one wants. Oh, and steeped in a deep history of continually evolving culture and boundary lines. And cheese.

I got something pretty this week. Can you guess if it's animal, mineral, or vegetable? Here's a clue, parts of it are red, it's larger than a bread box, and it can make noise if you poke at the right part. :)

Get Your Sparkle On!

2009-11-24T04:55:00.003-05:00

So the second of the I Wanna Kill Myself to Be With My Misogynistic Boyfriend Forever Saga came out recently. And I did not see it. But I still have opinions...

Because I read the books. I admit it. USmellGr8 gave me the first one and I was flabbergasted by it. Then my niece asked for them for her birthday, so I decided I needed to know what was in them before I handed them over to a kid with my personal endorsement. Holy Shit.

In case you were distracted by the shiny cars, giant hair, and shinier body glitter, here is a quick summary of the Twilight Series.

Book One: Twilight

A pale girl with good grades, good parents, good clothes, and one and only one sympathetic and mandatorially endearing flaw (she's clumsy) moves in with her dad in wet rainy Washington State to selflessly give her loving mother and stepfather "space". Bullshit. Anyway, this whiny bitch moves in with her dad who buys her a truck, and then she treats him like fucking dirt. She goes to school and all the boys are falling all over her, and she eventually has to suffer through THREE invitations to the dance. Oh No! It's hard being so plain that everyone wants to be your friend and take you out. There are some pasty rich kids and she gets a hard on for one of them and accidentally gets to sit next to him in biology, which makes him act like he wants to throw up. She is charmed by this. Then some kid almost hits her with a van, pasty nauseated boy stops the van like superman, and when they go to the hospital she's all like, What was that? And he's all like, Nothing, shut the fuck up and mind your own business. And she loves him like any abuse victim would. He keeps telling her to go the fuck away, which obviously means he loves her, right? Then she wanders around some city she doesn't know, goes hiking through a warehouse district trying to get raped, and nauseated boy psychically finds her and drives recklessly onto the scene in an obnoxious car. Then he buys her a coke, and tells her he's not attracted to her sexually but she's delicious and he wants to eat her. She loves him so much that she wants to commit suicide. Yay! Then he drives her to school. She wants to have sex, but like any perpetually 17 year old boy, he says, no thank you ma'am, I won't make a dishonest woman of you, just a snack. So he hangs out in her room all night, every night. Also, he sparkles for her. Oh, and Vampires and Jesus are cool with one another, and you still have to go absorb all that religious die for someone sort of bullshit. His J.Crew vampire family thinks she's delicious and takes her to play baseball, like vampires do. Some fashion victim vampires show up, One of them also thinks she delicious, and tries to eat her, which upsets nauseated boy. They travel a lot and then smash up a dance studio and nauseated boy's brother snaps the fashion victim vampire's neck. Then they go to the prom! He promises he will never ever ever ever leave her.

Moral: Your dad's an idiot, a free car is nothing unless it's a Porsche, when people are mean to you it means they love you, and being superbly popular and having lots of friends is such a bore that you should find a boyfriend who orders you around and makes you want to kill yourself.

Book Two: New Moon

He leaves her. Now she is aged and decrepit and at her 18th birthday she cuts her finger and his brother tries to eat her. Giant hair boy dumps her for being too delicious to other people. She, sensibly, falls down on the forest floor and goes into a coma. Then she leads on Native American Boy with great abs who has a huge crush on her, cuz that's ok. She makes him fix her motorcycle and then tries to basically kill herself to get a halucinogenic high of her d-bag ex-boyfriend. She lies to her stupid dad because he just DOESN'T GET HOW UPSET SHE IS BECAUSE SHE AND GIANT HAIR BOY ARE MEANT TO BE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Then she jumps off a cliff. Giant hair boy goes to Italy to sparkle himself to death, but she finds out and makes her father relive the day his wife left him in order to go and stop Giant Hair Boy. Then they go to an Anne Rice novel for a little while, and come back and tell her pining buddy that she's back with d-bag over there. Oh and her buddy turned into a werewolf because of d-bag and had to leave home.

Moral: Acting like a psycho because you got dumped and trying to kill yourself is totally normal. You don't need coping skills. Using another boy who is in love with you is totally ok, because you need to have your motorcycle fixed to get your high. Also, you're dad's still an idiot and emotionally scarring him is ok if you're gonna go to Europe. And at 18 you need wrinkle cream, you haggy old bitch.

Book Three: Eclipse

I didn't even bother to read this one. Seriously. There are some super extra strong new vampires and they kill them and stuff.

Moral: These books still suck.

Book Four: Breaking Dawn

This is where Meyer included every random thing she saw on tv that month. She graduates, decides to lie about going to college, marries the d-bag, the go to some island and fuck so hard they break the house, and then she gets instantly preggo from his super living dead sperm and makes a baby in like fifteen minutes. Except they fly to his parents first and when it's obvious that the fetus monster is trying to kill her, "And then Bella vomited a fountain of blood." They have a discussion/lecture about how abortion is wrong and our heroine decides to die (FINALLY!) but unfortunately the book doesn't stop there. Giant Hair boy gnaws open her uterus with his teeth to save the Monster Baby (seriously, ew) and then turns her into a vampire. And Surprise! She's the most specialest, prettiest, stongest, sparkliest, vampire-i-est vampire ever! Used Werewolf boy marks the baby, and declares his pedophilic lover for it. Then the Anne Rice people come back and there's a big conversation in the field over killing Monster Baby. And then it's all cool, and the Monster Baby grows up superfast so that werewolf boy can get to banging it. Oh and her stupid idiot dad is all cool with the dead daughter thing and the creepy baby.

Moral: ABORTION IS WRONG! JESUS IS RIGHT! YOUR DAD'S AN IDIOT! DO EVERYTHING YOUR DESERTER BOYFRIEND TELLS YOU TO DO! DON'T HAVE PREMARITAL SEX! HUMP BABIES!

KILL YOURSELF!

These books aren't just drivel, they are fucking dangerous for girls or ANYONE to be reading. I gave my niece a copy of Atlas Shrugged instead.

Please don't buy, read, look at, or think of any of these books, movies, or related topics. Also, please stab Stephanie Meyer through the heart with a stake for poisoning children's minds. And likewise Rob Pattinson for a paid performance that could have been done by a lamp wearing a Fonzie wig.

Read this Instead

http://oxymoronassoc.livejournal.com/462027.html

Is Chivalry Dead? Or Was That Just It's Zombie?

2009-11-11T03:06:00.004-05:00

Soooooo, loyal readers, you get an earful about what I like and dislike in the re-nomered personages I interact with on a daily basis, but a friend of mine was asking in earnest what, in my opinion, is expected in the realm of manners, respect, and chivalry in modern day interaction... so you get to hear my long winded, though deeply rooted reply.

And today we'll tackle PART of chivalry. The concept of chivalry itself (as put forth in The Art of Courtly Love) is based on a society that had wealth and property greatly concentrated in a very small portion of the population, and thus, when preparing a war machine of a man, the rich were the best outfitted. The young, well to do man could afford the hand crafted weapons, armor, and horses necessary to become a great warrior. Those who could not afford such things and opportunities were the old, the sick, the poor, and women. So thusly, those with the money and property now had the power. Enter the concept of noblesse oblige, the obligation of the nobility.

It was the concept that those who had were responsible for how they used their gifts and strengths, suggesting that it was important to not abuse such. And due to the religioius stronghold of the Christian church of that day, concepts of brother obligation, charity, and humility were mixed with ideas of loyalty, courage, generosity, and mercy. Basically, the concept can be interpretted as selflessness, excepting the fact that the elderly, poor (serfs), women, etc, were considered property, so one might argue that it was complete selfishness by looking after one's own affairs. We could get into how that relates to modern day religion, Socialism, gang fights, and Ayn Rand, but that's not my focal point today; it's just background. (But do check out an article from Esquire Magazine on Los Angeles gang violence and chivalry.)

So, leaving the religion and Rand for my other blogs, we'll jump to the most common day variation of chivalry: Behavior Between the Sexes. (Ooooooh....)

So is it really a big deal if you open the car door for a girl? Should you be suspicious if he pays for dinner? Should everyone feel manipulated by an outdated system? Well, as in all things, it depends on the objective behind the action, and your own inner confidence in yourself, your sexuality, your intelligence, and your self respect.

But Judy, you say, your blog is about lost of nothing and chinchillas? Why are you going on ad nauseum about manners?

Because even though we all have our less than shining moments, a basic awareness of the other people in the world goes a long way to advancing our lives. So shut your yap, you whiny baby, and read on.

I complained to Sculpaerrk a while ago that no one in the midwest has any manners. I may want to amend that to state that my total platonic and romantic experience with 20 something men in the large metropolis of Chicago was vastly different from the men I knew in a small town on the eastern seaboard or in an old city in the deep South. So yes, I was not as worldly as I had thought, and the difference of acceptable behavior gave me a slight sense of culture shock. But none the less, be it city, country, New England, prairie, or bayou, there are basic behaviors that show the other person that you have their interest and comfort in mind.

Here I'll give you three shortened real life examples of a very proper date I had, a terrible one, and a very enjoyable one.

Date #1 Gremio

-Planned the date, made reservations. Picked me up, came inside and greeted my family. Complimented my fancy outfit. Held my coat, held the door. Opened my car door. I unlocked his. No radio. Drove to a very fancy restaurant with wonderful food and terrible atmosphere. Held my door, walked on the traffic side, held the door again, gave my coat to the check girl, kept track of ticket. Gave name , guided me by the elbow to table, helped me into chair. Let me order first, asked me questions. Stood when I got up to go to the restroom. Had given maitre'd his credit card before we were seated and settled bill without my seeing it or being able to offer to help pay. Stood when I returned from powder room. Drank no more and no less than I. Guided me back to coat check, helped me into coat, tipped check girl. Opened door, walked on traffic side. Guided me to car, opened door, closed door, I unlocked his, he drove to a quiet club where he had a reservation for a quiet table in the back. Similar procedure to restaurant. Left club when he observed that I seemed slightly tired. Held door, walked on traffic side. Saw a purse snatcher, made sure I was with the other woman, ran down street after thief for three blocks. Came back empty handed but on phone with police. Made report, put purse theft victim in a cab, paid for it, and walked me back to the car, asking if I was alright. Opened my door, etc... Drove home, turned off car, opened my door, handed me out, walked me to the bottom of front steps, said he'd had a lovely time, kissed me once, waited until I had actually gotten inside of the house, and then turned and got in his car and left. Called the next day to reiterate that he had a good time with me, and could we go out again.

I admit, it was a little surreal what with the purse snatcher bit. Oh and there was a live orchestra someplace, but it shows that some guys really do put in that much effort. And there are responses that girls need to have to show your gratitude for the behavior, to show that you are fully capable and he isn't belittling you, that you are comfortable enough being a woman that you don't have to refuse any bit of consideration on principle.

Now the single worst date ever.

Date #2 Lucio

Saw me dropping off my brother for work. He asked my brother for my number and called me and asked me to dinner. Upon vague confirmation from brother, I stupidly agreed without doing my research. (You need to know something about the other person, who are they friends with? where do they work? who are they related to? Knowing one of those means that this person is accountable to others in their lives for their actions that night, so there is less chance of her getting drunk as a lark or his making unwanted advances.) Anyway, back to my folly, so he wants to go to dinner, but in a town without public transportation, he doesn't have a car and suggests we meet there. Ok. I arrive at a middlingly nice restaurant on time and wait in the cocktail area nursing a glass of wine. After forty five minutes and two conversations with his voicemail I go home. TWO HOURS after the start time of the date, he calls, and my brother answers. Citing some vague "I was running a little behind" and making no apology, he can't figure out where I went. My brother also bribes/guilts me into going back to the restaurant. (This never should have happened in any circumstance.) I change out of my silk dress and into a less flirtatious yet still appropriate slacks and sweater out of spite, and go back to that restaurant. And he's there. In gym shorts. And the staff doesn't know what to do. I don't know what to say. He greets me with a "Where were you? I got here and you were gone?" and then flops into his chair. He complains about the price of everything on the menu, attempts to order for me, and then makes 2 foot perameter of food and crumbs as he slops through his meal. He also tells me I'm dressed like an old lady, but i've got a nice "set". When the check comes, he picks it up, announces that the place is over priced, and then tells me he forgot his wallet. I pay, stand up, wish him a nice day and bolt for my car. He runs after me and asks me why I'm just going to ditch him there like that, and won't I give him a ride to his dealers? I go home and promptly berate my brother until I'm hoarse. Two months later I was sitting in the park waiting for my grandmother to finish chatting with some little old ladies, and Gym Short Boy comes cruising up on his Huffy and circles me like a vulture before yelling, "I'm sorry I wasn't good enough for you, you uptight bitch."

Classy.

So is a guy either a wallet or a douchebag? No. Here's the most enjoyable date I've had so far.

Date #3

Picks me up, comes to the door, says hi to my mom and brother. Sees my jeans and ruffly top and tells me I look nice. Asks about my day, opens car door, closes car door. I unlock his. He presents me with options, movie or mini golf. I hesitate, he says mini golf also has ice cream. I say mini golf. Arrive at mini golf. Opens door. He pays for clubs and balls. We cheer for each other when we do well, we make up fantastic, psychic, cosmic excuses as to why the other one's shot didn't make it. (The windmill is magnetized, there was a precise Earth quake created by a team of gophers employed by the mini golf place.) He doesn't let me win, but congratulates me on a few good shots. I buy us icecream. We walk by the lake and feed the ends of our cones to swarming ducks. He asks about my new show. I ask about his new band. He takes me to a cliff point with a great view that he liked to go to as a kid, holding on to my arm to make sure i don't fall off the mountain. (I don't get along with gravity very well.) He gets me home at a decent hour, gets out of the car, and kisses me next to said car. The next day he drops off a copy of a CD he had told me about at my summer job and he tells me he had a great time, and makes plans again.

It's not the money. It's not the strict adhesion to specific protocol, it's the idea that someone cares about someone else's comfort and enjoyment. I unlock his door not because an extra 20 seconds is gonna kill him but because it's a simple thing that shows my appreciation. He talks to your boring family because they are a part of your life. But I will admit, a sprinkling of chair holding and the like goes a loooong way. I did actually refuse to go out with a guy a second time because on the first date he didn't do anything of effort. He was pleasant, he was dressed nice enough, but he always walked in first, walked ahead, ordered first, didn't ask what i wanted to do, and he didn't make sure that I got home safe. Hell, I make sure that my girlfriends get home after dodgeball or drinks, I put them in a cab, I take the time to get my car and give them a ride, I stay on the phone with them while they ride the train home at the very least. If I can do it for a friend, any guy that's trying to get anywhere with me can do it. And there's nothing wrong with having expectations of good breeding.

And stop making excuses, if they don't make an effort on the first date, they sure as hell won't be considerate after the honey moon phase is over. If someone wants to be with you, they will make you a priority, they will make time for you and they will make an effort. If they don't, move on. People are surprisingly plentiful.

Ok. :) I'm done being pretentious.

Girls just want a little effort, they can imagine a lot of great traits with just a little good behavior. We're optimists. :)

Just Because You're Dressed Like A Brontosaurus Doesn't Mean You Can Poop In My Yard And Roar At My Neighbors

2009-11-10T01:15:00.004-05:00

Sushi disagrees.

But that's ok, because he just had his old day! Happy slightly belated old day! Every year I feel just a little bit better because you're another year older, and I'm still 25 again.

Not too much news here. I'm attempting to learn lines in 3 five person scenes that we've only rehearsed once each and which I'm supposed to have memorized for tomorrow. Hmm...

Also, I caught the chinchilla doing the you-know-what to his you-know-where area and I freaked out again. It's just freaking weird to see a puff ball do that. I blame his father.

I'm going to suck if I ever have teenagers.

And MikeInSpanish guilted me into going to dodgeball when I was sick, and now I can't talk. Oh well, the dogs don't listen anyway.

AND...hmm... I swear something awesome was coming up...OH YEAH, VACATION MOFO'!
I feel like the Kool Aid man all of a sudden. But yes, vacation, moving, another vacation, and much getting of sweaters to celebrate my birth and that of some crazy hippie who has helped to seasonally bolster our economy! Woo hoo! Take that Communism!

And vacation/Thanksgiving/3rd annual 25th birthday/Christmas means... I'm gonna see you! Chances are, if you're reading this, we're probably going to get wings someplace in America, or cheese someplace in Europe, within the next 60 days. Or that I owe you a burrito. Please fix my computer, Sushi, it's crying stinky tears....

And Mr.BigName messaged me today. And Allie said no movies right now. So... I'm thinking laser tag. Everyone likes laser tag. Even Grandma!

And I've been thinking about Christmas shopping. While I appreciate that my siblings eventually stopped procreating (I have 15 nieces and nephews, that's a lot of my shopping budget), I don't appreciate that the pre-existing offspring has been aging and turning into adult people. I prefer to buy things at FAO Schwartz or someplace equally as creepy, awesome, and overpriced, but now that they're all hitting that teenage, or preteen age ("TWEEN", as it maybe. sounds like something used to shape your eyebrows...) they want lame shit, like iPods. I have a freaking iPod. I want to use them as an excuse to by a fucking playdoh-monster-making-cookie-oven-hairsalon-powered by a potato or some shit. But no. They want tickets to see Taylor Swift. That is not fun for me to purchase. I don't care if you're 16, you're getting a goddamn PowerWheels this year.

Also, upon further reflection, I may buy the dogs their own Power Wheels, and at the same time cement my reputation as crazy dog lady, and help them begin their previously unmobile takeover of the Earth.

Does anyone know any old cowboy songs? The ones my mom used to sing were about losing a woman, dying, losing a dog, a dying dog, losing your woman to a dying dog.... I was just wondering if there were any other themes that I had missed.

I want a neck rub more than sex right now. That's rough.

Gimme Gimme Gimlet

2009-11-05T22:52:00.003-05:00

How do I know she loves me? She tells me.

"A Melissa goes 'shut the fuck up, Judy' "

Can't you feel the sisterly adoration? lol.

Aside from being serenaded with sweet words of loving from my nearest and dearest, this week is pants.

I have no recollection of finishing the above sentence. I switched windows to tell USmellGr8 that she was going to gurgle to the bottom of the sea like Leonardo DiCaprio, and I came back and it was there. Ooooh,... haunted blog....

I have no idea what I did this week. Hmm....

I ate some lasers. True story. And now I sound like Dr. Girlfriend for a few days. Yay, in office surgery!

Also... I... well I finally had a monologue rehearsal... and... hmm... I got a new place... and... a skirt... and... I called a restaurant where my ex boyfriend works now to get quotes for a bridal shower, and said ex boyfriend now thinks I'm getting married... to my friend's fiance... that's awkward. And kind of hilarious.

I could have sworn I was more interesting than this.

I've been working on "writing" a new show, but I can't describe my formula for brilliance because the Germans might steal it and bring Hitler back from the grave as a dog. If you understand that reference, I may love you.... :)

It's cold here! Good god, I could use a little Miami heat.

Where's My Halloweenie Now?

2009-11-02T01:16:00.019-05:00

Yay! Halloweenie time again!

Here are Beave and I as Molotov Cocktease and Brock Samson.

God Bless America. Or Russia. Or Whatever.

It was a rockin' night, kiddies.

Friday night was nice stuff, but we went to Noxema Green's and stayed at the one party all night long. Great costumes, a Lady Gaga, a Christina, break dancers, Charlie Brown, hoochies, Mother Nature, Homer Simpson, a pirate, Maverick, and Crockett and Tubbs from Miami Vice.

Oh, my! Don Johnson! *swoon*

And BananaHavana made tiny pigs in a blanket. Yay for cocktail weinies on Halloweenie!

And here's LittleEdie and I in a photo booth at the Holiday Club. Woo hoo!

If You Get Alopecia, They Give You A Cape

2009-10-31T12:19:00.006-04:00

"I'm billowing! I'm billowing!"

This guy dresses up like Superman every year, and every chance he gets. And then starts superhero bar fights.

My friends were drunk superheroes and Bouviers last night. See Grey Gardens. Sculpearrk kept begging for photos to be taken of his Superman cape blowing in the wind. Demanding actually is more like it. Did I mention he was verschnicken? And in blue contacts with tiny pupils on them, so he just looked a little creepy and catlike all night long. And I learned that superheros have a crotch zipper in their unitard under the little man panties. He decided we all needed to know that. We also ran into the Marvel Family at The Holiday Club, and there was much posing. There is also a photo booth, and four of us inside of it.

And after being so uncomfortable in the Catwoman outfit at TV reruns, I decided that my Halloween costume needed to push my comfort zone way the hell out there. So I dressed like Molotov from the Venture Bros. Also, I've never been anything pretty for halloween, my favorite costume thus far was Mr. T. (cross dressing and racial impersonation, be offended, be very offended) and I guess Molotov counts as pretty. She's at least very obviously female. There was a lot of tape, and I expected a few comments, but I didn't expect tons of random girls touching me to find out "if it's real". At first I didn't even know what they meant, but apparently they thought I bought a fake chest insert. A really, really pasty fake chest insert.

And I feel amazingly chipper today. I got up at 10 am after not getting home until 4:30 am. I think that there's just a subconscious burst of energy knowing that my friends are all hungover, and that never having more than two drinks in a night is still the best rule I've ever given myself. This allows that, 1) I can always drive myself home after a suitable amount of time, 2) I have much less chance of being raped, 3) I can wear outfits that don't allow you too pee.

And Beave is coming tonight dressed as Brock! Woo Hoo! And we're going to Mallory's. Double Woo Hoo! Pictures shall be forthcoming. And then I'll wish that my family didn't see them.

On to Halloweening!

It Is Always Cold In Siberia

2009-10-27T04:41:00.001-04:00

Je ne vous aime pas comme si vous étiez sel-rose, ou topaz, ou la flèche des oeillets que le feu tire au loin. Je t'aime car certaines choses foncées doivent être aimées, dans le secret, entre l'ombre et l'âme. Je t'aime comme plante qui ne fleurit jamais mais transporte en soi la lumière des fleurs cachées ; grâce à votre amour un certain parfum plein, levé de la terre, les vies obscurément dans mon corps. Je t'aime sans savoir comment, ou quand, ou d'où. Je t'aime simplement, sans complexités ou fierté ; tellement je t'aime parce que je ne sais aucune autre manière que ceci : là où je n'existe pas, ni vous, ainsi près de cette votre main sur mon corps est ma main, ainsi près de celui vos yeux se ferment pendant que je tombe endormi.

I remember this... I'm just discouraged the past.... 5 years... coincidence? Or need for adventure?

All My Kingdom For a Hotel Bed

2009-10-23T05:11:00.002-04:00

Can't sleep, clowns will eat me....

Actually, I can't sleep because they won't let me.... It's all well and good that I work 16 hrs a day, but the fact that I do it from 11 am to 4 am means that I am asleep when other people go to work, so that must mean I'm lazy... How can I dare to not wake up at 6 in the morning like other productive people?

If you can't tell, I'm having a frustrating and sarcastic day.

Also, I'm exhausted. (duh). I have four jobs now. Three of which I love and actually have something to do with all of that schooling for which I paid. But that makes them inconsequential and indecent.

Did I mention I'm having a Bitching and Whining Day?

Let's balance it out.

Fight Jam 6 was awesome! We got a great response, 13 new people, and I got some new marketing and cash flow ideas. Also I got Tom signed on for next month as a photographer. Woo hoo!

Tomorrow I'm going with Wizard of Sorts to da club. Fo reals.

Now, don't get me wrong, I still hate da club with every fiber of my being, but it's for work related stuff, and he called me pretty, so how could I say no? Thinking about it makes me all clammy and chunder-prone, but this is that outside-your-comfort-zone-watch-out-for-roofies sort of thing that actors do in real life.

And I'm filming something next week that involves jujitsu and suffragettes. And it's based on history. Kick ass!

Ok, I feel better now. Not more rested, but better.

"Cornism. It's Like Racism, But For Corn."

2009-10-18T03:22:00.005-04:00

I love CelticPagan. Tonight's pow wow came up with "Hump Back To Health", with such projects as
Sex for Peace!
Sex for Cancer Research!
Sex for Leukemia!
Sex for the Terminally Ill But Not Yet Icky!
Where we take our frustrated non-existent sex lives on the road and do good by humping deserving individuals who were specially chosen, Make A Wish style. :) We are freaking selfless. Or just annoyed by the outcome of having standards. Sigh.

And on that note, I'm considering Hollywood and it's contents... GrizzledLoverNotGrizzledPoet. Not really where you go for stability normally, but I've decided to turn things over in my mind. Then again, if I were after stability, I wouldn't have this artsy fartsy lifestyle, would I?

It would just be... so easy? So comfortable? So drunk? I need to do more research. These are not my adjectives.

And I'm negotiating a Jujitsu Suffragette project, based on a true story. What else could I possibly say about it?

And Beave graduated from A-School in the Navy! Congratulations! I'm fucking terrified now!

It was the first time I ever actually saw him in uniform, and even though I knew he was in the Navy, it just didn't seem real until then. And then I got all teary and freaked out that I'm never gonna see him again. And, hell, you can't say that, because despite all the conditioning, he knows it's a possibility too. I don't fucking like it. Pout. Of course I understand the function and importance of the military, and that it can't always be somebody else, but damn, it's got me anxious and he's still a thousand miles from the closest ocean.

And in lighter news, tonight I heard someone say, "Stop jiggling your flan!"
I think that's going to be a new insult.

Aw... stuff it. I'm going to bed.

HUT! HUT! POTTY!

2009-09-26T02:38:00.008-04:00

Benny doesn't need surgery! Huzzah!

Also, we had an awesome Fight Jam with Dan Pesina doing Wushu double broadsword vs. spear. Check the Kick Ass Fight Jam site for pics soon!

And here is a small sampling of the words of wisdom that have been coming in from all corners this week:

"That's how they roll. On the floor. Cuz they're old people. With broken hips."

"I can kill you while quoting the masters of English literature."

"Well there's rock bottom, and then fifty feet below that is sleeping with homeless guys."

"I want to ride Lady Vajayjay!"

"I was thinking about Styrofoam today."

"Naked men look like half decorated Christmas trees."

I swear, the people I hang out with are deeper that they read. :)

Potstickers+in bed= Second Huzzah!

Reuse, Recycle, Reromance, or How I Plan on Not Having to Make Any New Friends

2009-09-20T22:42:00.006-04:00

So I think I've got enough friends.

And I'm super lazy.

And that makes me SOCIALLY GREEN!

So, I've decided that I don't want to go through the hassle of making any new ones. If it happens accidentally, I can't help it. (I am fabulous and people do flock to me.) However, I have no social enthusiasm for meet and greets and telling my 30 hrs of amazingness over again.

SO,

I've decided that for all of my friend needs, I shall become greener, and reuse what I've got. If you're not already on my Facebook list, eh. I have 448 friends on there. You guys should be good for something, right? For party guestlists, networking purposes, dating, and finding people to move my stuff and star in my cartoons, I am done taking applications.

This is great, because I don't have to worry about when to reveal my terrible, stomach churning secrets of my past life, because you already know! And rather than getting really excited about a new friend and then finding out she's shallow and feeling let down, I can just hang out with my friends that I know are assholes, and keep bitching about them to USmellGr8t, like always!

Go consistancy!

I already know all of your faults, and gave up long ago trying to change you, and we already resent each other but are bonded due to long term proximity!

The upside of this is that it simplifies dating a lot. I will only redate as to dump my previously earned emotional baggage on those who created it. (It's also inexorable justice.) Boyfriends #2 and #5 are out of their minds, and #1 is getting married to my friend, so they're off the list, but #3, #4, and that weird #3.5 sort-of-boyfriend guy are a go. Well, #4 has a lovely girlfriend that I like a lot, so we'll put him off the list for right now.

What about friends that were dated, but never gained boyfriend status? Hmm... That's like turning old water bottles into EcoSpun fleece. It does prevent the acquisition of new water bottles, but it takes a lot of energy to turn it into a fluffy scarf, which is what I'm more interested in now, I guess. I guess that's a case by case basis, determined by how much energy I have, how much work each scarf would take, and how much each water bottle wants to be a scarf. Also, if said water bottle has gotten a terrible tribal tattoo or some bullshit since I last saw them.

In celebration, I am having a huge Green Party. If you know where it is already, you can come, but only bring people I already know. And like. And if you don't know if I like them, check for the tribal tattoos. Ick.

Nobel Prize for Conservationism, here I come.

Don't Trust the Satin Pillow

2009-09-14T02:07:00.002-04:00

Great day. Very, very, very tired, but a great day.

I haven't tried to beat anyone senseless out of affection in a long time. :) I'm glad you're here!

Moisha, Moisha, Moisha!

2009-09-12T23:51:00.002-04:00

Tonight's show was canceled due to millions trying to storm the building. Or no one trying to storm anything, I don't remember which.

Guess who is leaving the house in a few hours *because she's awesome* to meet her bestest dudefriend at the airport? That's right. It's me. Then bestest dudefriend and I will commence with the eating, yelling, and incipherable yet likely rude hand gestures that comprise our super awesome friendship. And this time we'll be doing it in the middle of the freaking prairie.

Go flat shit!

And we're going to eat Greek! GREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK! Lennon has never had Greek food and I want baklava so there we go.

Need to sleep so I can fetch his morning lovin' ass and receive awesome breakfast.

Farmers Farm, Rockers Rock, Butlers... Butle?

2009-09-12T01:46:00.002-04:00

I told my friend CelticPagan that her rabbits woke her up because they have to do little bunny plays about carrots and fucking. I stand by it.

And I saw something... gorgeous today. Didn't know it existed before. :) Will let you know more tomorrow.

And I lost my pants. My mother would be scandalized. If you have seen my pants, please let me know because now I have to wear tight little leggings instead, and no one wants to see that. :(

Viva la champagne rose!

Professionals And Conmen

2009-09-12T01:17:00.002-04:00

Pro: Was on time for show
Con: Director wasn't.
Pro: Show went well.
Con: Started walking home in shiitey shoes.
Pro: Tom called!
Pro: Tom picked me up and bought me dinner.
Pro: Duck!
Con: Feet still hurt.
Con: Walked to The I Spy.
Pro: Met Jamie and Laura there.
Pro: Talked about Christopher Hitchens, "Raising Moral Children W/O Religion", and the Abelam tribe of Papau New Guinea.
Con: Talked about healthcare bill.
Pro: Went back to Abelam and their 30 foot yams.
Pro: Had pink champagne cocktail in this city. Finally!
Con: Had to explain to very annoyed barkeep what it was.
Con: Got billed for whole bottle of pink champagne.
Pro: Got whole bottle of pink champagne.
Con: Shoes were taken by drunken frat boy.
Pro: Tom punched him in the ear.
Con: I think he's deaf now.
Pro: Shoes returned and guy forced to make apology.
Con: Still worried about guy's ear.
Pro: Found some freaking trees in Chicago!
Pro: Still had bottle of pink champagne.
Pro: Tom played fiddle. Rock out.
Pro: I jigged like a freaking maniac with Jamie.
Con: Sat in mud.
Pro: So did Tom.
Con: Got yelled at by hobo.
Pro: Tom gave hobo a sandwich card and rest of champagne.
Con: Forgot where car was.
Pro: Found it without Tom's TomTom.
Con: Mud butts + leather seats.
Pro: Bought towels at creepy late night tourist shop.
Con: Now have muddy pants and towel that say, "Al Capone's Chicago" in washer.
Pro: Sleepy, no longer muddy, full of pink champagne.

Yay!

I win tonight.

Also, plum duck and pink champagne are amazing, add Irish music and how can I complain?

Live With Me!

2009-09-11T01:16:00.003-04:00

So... this whole moving thing has been a nightmare. And it hasn't even happened yet.

Long story short, Jael dropped off the face of the planet, and I can't bring myself to leave beautiful yuppie-filled Lakeview.

The solution? Either I pay a grand more each month, or I get a roommate and pay pretty much the same as the last place, but in a nicer, safer, less hobo-ridden neighborhood.

So I'm looking for a roommate out of my acquaintances. The problem, is that I'm unmarriable, but no one else is. Or rather, I have no urge to get married today, and everyone else has paired up and is reveling in picking up some guy's undershorts for him, and calling it commitment. So... all my girlfriends are either married, engaged, as good, or living with Hannah. Hmm...

Let me know if you have any ideas. Or if Cucaberra is moving back to town, because he was the most awesome roommate ever. He totally didn't get and/or act like a cat for no apparent reason and with no warning while I was at work one day, like some people.

And LENNON IS COMING to town! WOO HOO!!!!! He called me to make initial breakfast plans. That's right, breakfast. I'm meeting his damn plane at 7 a.m. 'Cause I'm a FUCKING DOLL. :)

Also, I sang real good and stuff tonight. And I can do that dang'd chair thing today. Woot.

I need to go pretend to learn some lines for what will surely be the high point of my career in fine theatre.

Toodles.

Spirited Terms of Endearment

2009-09-10T01:47:00.002-04:00

"Words are happening. I don't control them, I just help."

"You're wonderful and no one gives you enough credit. If i could, I'd hire a whole
squad of pom-pom girls to follow you around and cheer when things go right for you."

"If we were... in the same city, we'd be engaged by now. Well, I'd have proposed, but women's lib- Chris Schram just won the Civil War. There are Chinese all over the damn place."

"It's the drunken truth."

"I miss ou terribly. Thank god for auto-correct."

You are such a drunken little pick me up. You sot. :) And I realized I don't have a moniker for you. Hmm... we'll work on it. I used to just call you Chops, obviously. Actually, I think I'll go back to that. That was a very sweet greeting, and I hope you guys have a great time tonight and at your house warming.

And let me just show the reader a comparison. Look at the sweet, if slightly silly things stated above by Chops in an arena of inebriation at Spitz and NoShooz's flat in NY, versus another declaration of love from a few years ago by DelhiRat:

"She was, like, five minutes. But you, YOU were, like, TWENTY FIVE minutes."

There's a certain, je ne sais quoi, missing from the second example, don't you agree? Also, I enjoy the opportunity to harp on his lameassery any chance I get.

Anywho, in addition to Chops' beautiful sentiments, my day is full of love. USmellGr8t and I discovered that I am inciting matrimonial violence unintentionally, and Lennon will be here on Sunday, and how freaking pants is that? We're going to do all the amazing things that Lennon and I always do together... like make fun of each other,... and eat pizza... and... I could have sworn our friendship had some deeper activities. We could bitch about how no one respects freedom from religion but that doesn't go well with pizza. Hmm...

And my doglets are being friendly to Tami without being afraid finally. Yay! Can't you just feel the love?

And after rehearsal we tried this chair trick where you take three steps back from a wall, place a chair in front of you, bend over so that your head is touching the wall, pick up the chair, and stand up straight. It posits that woman can do it and men can't due to their different centers of gravity. However,... I couldn't do it. I don't know if I took too large of steps or locked my knees, but the last theory someone mentioned to me is my favorite. He asked if it was possible that my breasts were just too large and dense and they were making me top heavy. Like a Geo Tracker. I'm gonna go with this, but try the trick at home and let me know if you can do it. It's infuriating!

And guess who's playing and singing like a maniac tomorrow? Yeah, this guy. It's gonna be kickass, and you shall be jealous. Hopefully, I won't forget the music I'm supposed to perform from memory. Eck. :)

Electric Typewriters Are Just About As Useful As Electric Mules

2009-09-07T13:38:00.003-04:00

I have absolutely no news today.

EireStreetPizza called me with conversations about Jesus flying through the air and sausage gravy being amazing, and promises of visits. :) We'll see.

I expected to sleep like a log last night but had insomnia for the first time in my life and I feel like a zombie again today. Maybe I can nap in the middle of dancing tonight.

And here's the millionth reason I love USmellGr8t:

"Jude, is your passport ready? We're going onto travel zoo."

A girl after my own heart and willingness to donate money to the airline industry for no apparent reason.

Cleaning.

BOOBS...! Who Needs 'Em?!

2009-09-07T03:46:00.003-04:00

I spent a whole lot of time and energy growing these things, hauling them around for about 15 years, putting expensive uncomfortable lace all over them, examining them, massaging them, yelling at people for ogling them, and what they hell do they do to deserve all that mollycoddling? Nothing. That's what. Contrary to popular belief, they didn't even try to help me out of either speeding ticket I've ever gotten. Lazy, cumbersome, and dormant growths. They should at least be able to do my taxes or something until, and if, they are otherwise needed.

I'm tiffed, yes TIFFED, at them tonight for jumping around so much while I foxtrotted. It was very rude. Someone could lose an eye.

Anyway...

Today I have popped. And locked. And I wasn't the worst one there. Later on, I trotted and swung and was much better than some others present. If you've ever seen me walk and chew gum at the same time, you realize how sad this is.

And grad school is finally cleared up! (it had terrible acne)

Beans and love.

Tale Number 47 of My Doing Something Dumb

2009-09-06T17:07:00.004-04:00

Yeah...

So, picking an argument, via text message, when you're barely seeing straight from physical and emotional exhaustion.... is not the smartest thing I've ever done. Somehow, magically, your views of things are a little skewed. The even more awkward thing is when I got some sleep and then was trying to explain to Sculpaerrk at whom I had yelled, while trying to recall the hazy logic that had made me do it in the first place. I think I've just realized how my sister and my ex boyfriend, LES, operate on a daily basis. Not cool. This was definitely one of the least impressive things I've ever done. And now I'm under suspicion for "the crazies". Lol. Can't really say I blame the kid.

And Lennon, don't ever agree with anything I say if I use the word "fuck" more than 8 times and I'm not talking about you. :) I think I rely too much on your curmudgeonly, grizzled omnipotence. How are your lights and millions of voicemails?

On the upside, I finally got some freaking sleep!

AND I met Beave's girlfriend, and she is AWESOME! Immediate analysis proved that she was gorgeous, smart, classy, and funny. And that Beave is much better behaved around her. I'm still a little bowled over, but super happy for them. :)

So guess who got a letter from CSSD reporting their settlement with the Mellon Arts Grant Committee after two and a half years? Woo me and an M.F.A. !

And Lennon is coming to Chi-flippin-town next week for work, and we will eat the deep deetch peezza. Omp. Fabu. (He hates the word 'fabu'.)

So there's my week in a nutshell. A lot of stressful stuff, me acting like a psycho turd, and then a day of great rewards. This pattern is why I am an atheist. :)

Think Down Your Gin and Kerosene

2009-08-31T06:16:00.004-04:00

I'm too young to feel so stoic about the awful week that has just passed. I feel for people, but in the long run, it's that whole cycle of life thing that gets me every time. The awareness that everything is a mathematical possibility and it has to happen to someone makes it harder to be angry, even though your lungs are collapsing with pain.

So it wasn't a good week. My cousin's funeral was this weekend. And like when my mom and USmellGr8t's dad died, people just aren't taught what to do in these situations and they're so awkward but have so many good intentions. I'm getting to be an old pro at this stuff, and can whip out a song or a speech when others can't breathe. Am I callous? I think it's just that nothing can be as bad as what I've already lived through. Or at least as my life is now, there's nothing that's so important to me that that situation could harm me like that again. At least I can be useful to others with this leathery mind set.

The only nice point, which provided me with some relaxation that I didn't realize I needed so, was that Sculpaerrk picked me up and took me for an exquisite gourmet experience at IHOP. I still have no idea what he wants, but I don't really care. I'm tired of continually second guessing people. I enjoy myself immensely in his presence and I'll just take the present. :) I'll worry about expectations on either side as I come to them.

And I have more meetings, rehearsals, appointments, and work this week than I have in months. Plus an invitation to a baseball game. I don't think I can make an audition I really would like to do because I have a musical rehearsal with Ritz that he seems to not be able to move. :( I'm hoping that kissing a little butt will get me in at another time to audition.

And I've been talking to CelticPagan and trying to sort out my fall trip to Prague to see her. If I don't stay in one place for a while, my travel fund will be too emaciated and I won't have to worry about it. Even though I have this desperate urge to go camping lately...

Sushi, thank you for the info today, now call me before I punch you in the baby maker and lodge your MacBook up your bum. :) Miss you.

And Christopher Hitchens is still getting me all riled up, but in an I-want-to-do-more-research kind of way so it's not that bad.

Creamed Corn a la Marsailles.

2009-08-27T01:20:00.003-04:00

Classy.

I should be editing pictures of myself kicking ass, as well as others kicking other body parts, for the Fight Jam Chicago website, but my stomach hurts, my dog keeps licking my foot, and I'm getting more and more disillusioned.

My 18 yr. old cousin died after a car crash yesterday, and more than anything I'm worried about my GreatAuntHazyVamp, her grandmother. After my mom, UncleCowBoyInTheSwamp, AuntFrauline, GrandmaHemopheliaTea, and GreatAuntBeatnikForGlaucoma all passed away in such a recent amount of time, she's been quite depressed and I'm so afraid of what this is going to do to her. :(

In other news, check out Fight Jam Chicago, in a day or so when i get around to it, there will be awesome photos.

My buddy LilMikey had a craptacular week and lost a very close friend of his, and then he won $15,000 in a talent contest. Life is ridiculous and sporadic.

And I shall finally see someone this week that I've been 'negotiating' a meeting with for sometime now. Hopefully, the negotiating is done, and I can actually have a conversation and watch a play. :)

And now to swoon or chunder or implode. I'm not sure which.

No sandwich. Out.

Exhale. Am I Off My Nut Or Something?

2009-08-14T00:14:00.004-04:00

My aunt and cousins have been having a pretty craptacular summer, and I think i'm going to send them some fudge or something.

SanSoleil is in Chicago and messaged me. Woot. Nice kid, glad he's here.

Bit of a hair snaffu (man my life is deep lately), and colorist ignored pictures and instructions and dyed it brown. Poo brown. Thank God it was bleached and unfilled before so it'll fade out and I can get it carmelized somewhere. Also, the really sweet nice side of it, was that the day of beauty was a gift from a friend, so she is super awesome for that.

And I talked to Sushi and Lennon today about nothing, and nothing, and shoes. And people say girls are shallow...

Hmm.... let's end on a high note... Dennis Davies is apparently doing a really interesting show, and while I get the sinking feeling that I won't be seeing it tomorrow, I'm going to try to get to it before the end of the run. Decadence by Abraham Werewolf. Awesome.

Also, I got a pretty new dress. Go me.

Scary Flipping Babies!

2009-08-11T03:47:00.002-04:00

As if I don't put up enough of this stuff at my parties and as blog-o-rations....

It's just too good. And tell me, postal meter, is it always wrong to kill a woman?

http://retrocomedy.com/2009/07/01/the-15-creepiest-vintage-ads-of-all-time/

Get Some Freaking Manners, Hobo!

2009-08-09T01:30:00.005-04:00

At the risk of going all Emily Postal, I have noticed in the past few years a serious decline in the manners of the people I encounter romantically and platonically. I chalked it up to something about the age we've reached, and then I went home and the men there are the same way I remember them. The guys I used to be friends with are still polite and well bred, without effort. Second nature. i've never worried about bringing Sushi or Lennon to my aunt's house if we were hanging out, and I wouldn't be afraid to leave either of them with my sister.

But my encounters in the Midwest leave something to be desired. It takes the enjoyment out of being nice to them. I WANT to be considerate, and caring, and affectionate to people, and when they act like jerks, I can't bring myself to waste the effort beyond daily politeness. Quit being mean, quit being rude. If it's a front, get the confidence to drop it. I like you! What's wrong with that? And men of Chicago, don't be so sketchy. I'm just gonna hope that it's the moon and everybody's actually awesome. Think positively.

New subject.

I drank over a gallon of tea today. That was not my best idea ever considering it was too muggy to sweat it out.

I'm also jonesing for a vacation. (who isn't?) And desperately want Aerandel to pick bridesmaids dresses so I can shell out some cash and see where I am. Or where i could be. Like Nice. :) Or Big Al's Super Awesome Funland O Rama. Eh.

And the Fight Jam site is progressing nicely. I have to reformat a lot of stuff before sending it off, but it's getting sexy and I'm excited. Also, AlasGPIM thinks we can do a SUPER HERO THEMED FIGHT JAM!!!! Wooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm going to have a little more faith in people. People produce superheroes, so they can't be all that bad. :)

Smelly Dogs Made Me Do It.

2009-08-04T19:25:00.003-04:00

So...

I've never drunk-called or drunk texted anyone (probably because I don't drink very often or in much quantity). I am, however, aware that I talk in my sleep, and sometimes take phone calls while still sleeping. But apparently I also text, and blog while out of it.

I woke today to find a new blog post that I have since removed the content from because my inhibition filter was on vacation, and that I had sent a text to Sculpaerrk rambling on about misconceptions of people being cads.

Brilliant.

And when I was awake, he texted back. And when I understood what had happened, I got embarrassed.

Yes, I was embarrassed for the first time in a very very long time. And why should I? Well, I certainly wouldn't have if it was USmellGr8t that I had texted kids. Is that indicative? (Hint: it is.)

Also, I sent a 15 yrs old and a 13 yrs old to the grocery store today to shop for the week. (I was awake for that.) We now have dip, and.... more dip. Awesome. :)

God God Damn It Damn It.

2009-08-04T04:15:00.004-04:00

hmmm

Schticky Pretentious Giant Icecubes

2009-08-03T14:04:00.007-04:00

Well this weekend was pants on all fronts. And all pants fronts.

AlasGPIM has brought me in to help do some organizing and promoting for Fight Jam Chicago, which I desperately love anywho.

I saw a very ambitious staging of the Tempest at Boho which you can read about on Pants or Face.

And I went out to a signless place with very tall chairs and large ice with Sculpaerrk . Which was, mmm, well yes, i think pants all around. And I didn't even beat him mercilessly. This time.

And my doppleganger/sister needs to answer her flipping phone. Hint not so subtle, Hip.

A dialogue

2009-07-08T11:57:00.003-04:00

JiLE: He's perfect, but what if I'm wasting time that could be better spent with someone else?

ME: Is anyone banging down your door?

JiLE: Well Mike. (Pause) Actually, Mike's more stealing things off my back porch.

ME: Mmm.

I'm Sorry Clark Gable, It's the Pants.

2009-07-08T03:15:00.002-04:00

I had a theory for a long time that I had a genetic predisposition to only fall in love with people with blue eyes. Then I realized that, while as possibly creepy and Nazi-fied, it was just that I tend to trust people with blue eyes first. Out of the list of people with whom it took me a while to learn my lesson, not counting those who were related to me, only one had blue eyes. Even then my disillusionment was short lived, and it turned out that he suffered from a quite painfully severe case of dumb. I think blue eyed people may just be either happier people, or less evil. Either or. :) And on the up side, I have a newish buddy with blue eyes. Trustworthy? I'm going to risk some faith here. I don't do that enough. Or rather when I do, it's in a really obviously inappropriate place. This, I think, is not. :)

And here's something vain that surprised and pleased me none the less. Despite the raging displeasure at my own obesity for the last three years, I walked past a mirror naked tonight, and was pleasantly surprised with my impression of myself. A swimsuit model I certainly never shall be, but I feel good tonight.

Cuchulain told me once that he couldn't stand how slow everything and everyone moved down south. I'm in a very large busy northern-esque city, and I'm missing the time I grew up with. It seems like since I turned 18 everyone has been in a mad rush, a rush to get to work, a rush to get home, a rush to get to bed, a rush to meet someone, to get to bed with someone, to be done in bed with someone, to get married to someone, to get rich, to get thin, to get that designer bag... Why? No one has any art in what they do anymore.

Here's a tip to true elegance, when you start something for pleasure, act like you have no where to be ever again.

And for every man and woman on the face of the planet, add 50% more time to having sex, making love, what have you. It's really not that complicated if you grew up in a loving situation where people cuddle their children. Touch like they are something sacred, something fragile. Touch like you'll never get to do it again. Touch like you have forever. Hear that boys? Slower, softer, always. ALWAYS. It's not rocket science. Just calm down, and pay attention. And everyone needs to speak up.

Well after that public service announcement, I have a question. I have been trying to get up in the morning on a regular basis for the last ten years and I can't. Any suggestions?

And we need to have more faith in each other, and moreso, we need to work harder to fulfill promises. A man's word doesn't seem worth a match nowadays. Somethings make you wish duelling were still legal.

Feeling hopeful.

"A Displaced Personage" OR "Why No One Actually Falls In Love Within The City Limits"

2009-07-04T20:12:00.002-04:00

"Personality is a physical matter almost entirely; it lowers the people it acts on- I've seen it vanish in a long sickness. But while a personality is activity, it overrides 'the next thing.' Now a personage, on the other hand, gathers. He is never thought of apart from what he's done. He's a bar on which a thousand things have been hung- glittering things sometimes, as ours are, but he uses those things with a cold mentality back of them."

You are what you do... or you're a newscaster's cardboard cut out. :)

Everytime I fall asleep for a few months, I either read Rand or Fitzgerald and wake up either more productive, but sad, or more sad, but romantic about the sadness. And that leads to productivity. And a reminiscence of when I had purpose for the hidden half of my vocabulary and a romantic predisposition that I always would.

Guess what I've been reading. :)

I'm going back to school. Greek Roses called him dashing. He's nothing of the sort, but that kind of faith gives me spirit. When I go to classes I am so in love that I never think of something as petty as dating. My mother raised me in the suspended disbelief that the space in between her knowledge and her hopes would be safe enough to manuever through. I dispelled my own posing poising poisoning confidence to SmellsGr8 today and have arrived at a newer, more solid foundation than current facts can provide; my own mythic and elusive potentiality. Today, I stole back some of the years that the world took with disproportionate speed and judgement. I'm fighting the Universe, and today I'm winning. I plan to keep on winning until I am contented.

Time is not steady and uniform. Some people live fifty years without aging twenty. Some live with the propensity to keep a step ahead at all times, to be the first to see what is just over the horizon, and then an impersonally cruel or rough sea throws them decades forward in a few days and they scramble to realign their minds to reality. And while seeking the horizon usually prevents being left too young all your life, hanging back does nothing but give a false sense of security until you are violently thrust forward and feel the the universe has betrayed you.

I fell off the front of the ship like an overly intrepid mermaid. But I'm catching down with myself without losing consciousness.

And it is a universal truth that no one falls in love in the city. They fall into lust for bodies, for pictures, for magazine spreads, for tables from Crate and Barrel but they don't fall in love. In a city so full of life and sin and money and enthusiasm, I am shocked to see how poor the Trixies of Lincoln Park and the patrons of Michigan Avenue live. Wealth and riches and grace lie in things of which some people just completely miss the point.

It's the luxury of a lush green spot tucked away from manky eyes to hold your love affairs. It's the entire days devoted to admiring the curve of a cheek and wandering through motted pictures that blur the lines between reality and gorgeousness. It's the clear shine of a thick wax on a piece of ancient but perfect mahogany table. It's the creamy tinge and warm weight of a silver cup. It's the time to pay a call and not care when or if it ends. It's the breeze passing through the gingerbread of a porch. It's the tart pleasure of first a first picked raspberry and the knowledge of how your livelihood and sustanance came to your lips. It's the easy knowledge in the confidence of a woman to build a house and ask for a hand from a car and be one in the same. It's a man knowing he can play and work and want and give and cry and still be an unconflicted creature. It's the concept that romance leads to sex leads to childbirth leads to growth leads to romance and that it is all as it should be and nothing is wrong or undesirable or grotesque as it serves its purpose beautifully. It's knowing that two hundred and thirteen years ago, the problems were the same, the joys were the same, that is how it has always been and they are special only because they are yours. It's knowing that nothing is objective beyond life and death.

The world runs very quickly trying to do a million things before the clock runs out. But why?

The Clitoris Stories

2009-06-13T23:53:00.005-04:00

Hey Google! Oh it's time for my opinions. I know you've all been worried about this seemingly impersonal and dry blog, but truth be told, I do have views on this.

And today's views are of your clitoris.

The Clitoris Stories presented by ARFTCo at the Cornservatory, 4210 Lincoln Ave.
Written by Tina Haglund Directed by Michael Buino June 5th through July 12th.

Well hot damn.

I was originally told that The Clitoris Stories was a parody of Ensler's Vagina Monologues, but whomever coined such a blasphemous description should be forced to drink from the Hudson.

Tina says that when she first heard the Vagina Monologues being proclaimed as a huge step in the modernization of America's view of female sexuality, she thought, "that kinda misses the point." Indeed.

The Clitoris Stories is a hilarious, brilliantly crafted journey exploring the female perspective of her own body, rights as a sexual being, needs as a human being, and misguided advice and information that is still given to woman and girls the world over. And men.

In a play that could easily become a free for all of male bashing, Haglund takes efforts to ensure her audience of all of the love, usefulness, and intrinsic value of the opposite sex through the text, the endearing performances of ARFTCo members Tim Ballard and Steve Truncale, and a literal disclaimer during which the same two men strut and pose for the audience in all their glory.

The female members of the cast present with feeling, conviction, and seemingly personal reality the issues of self love, the right to pleasure, the hate of Freud (that asshole) and his destructive propaganda, the discovery of new biological information about themselves, and the value of open and comfortable respect and communication.

But while the production pushes the audience just past that fine boundary of comfort zone, it immediately pulls you back to its breast with great wit and immaculate comic timing. A serious introductory monologue which feels like it is approaching extremist feminism is paired with a great 'filmstrip' about how clitorises cause car crashes. A hauntingly beautiful ensemble piece entitled "Dirty Little Secret" is followed by a anthem announced superhero bursting into the bedroom of a young couple.

The second act opens with the most conflicting scene I have ever experienced as a theatre goer. In the style of the overly indulged, overly presuming, and overly witty "The Importance of Being Earnest", four members of the ensemble, in four part harmony complete with hokey dancing and posing, present the Western political dilemma of action or intervention concerning the practice of performing of clitorectomies on women and girls across the world. One wants to laugh at the audacity and then struggles against such a response to so serious a topic. I applaud Haglund and Buino for crafting such a provocative challenge for their audience.

The juxtaposition of a moving, imploring call to awareness and sidesplitting sketch work make this play the single most provocative, entertaining, and stimulating night of theatre that I have ever seen.

And I advise you ladies to take any intelligent man about whom you feel romantic. There is no way to have mediocre sex after seeing this show.

The Clitoris Stories
at the Cornservatory
4210 Lincoln Avenue
June 5th- July 12th
Written by: Tina Haglund
Directed by: Michael Buino
Assistant Director: Tim Ballard
Starring:
Tim Ballard, April Beede, Miquela A. Cruz, Emily Friedrick, Susan Gaspar, Jenn-Anne, Tina Haglund, Stephanie Limestand, Lisa Litberg, Alison Paige, and Steve Truncale

I Can See the Stars Again for the First Time In Three Hundred Years

2009-05-23T23:47:00.002-04:00

Summer is returning to the city. Any city.

And I'm leaving for as much of it as possible.

I have this fantasy (it might be a plutonic, blue collar, watching the Steeler's kind of fantasy, but bear with me)...

I have this fantasy where Lenin and I go to that fated spot that turned the world upside down ten years ago under the shade of the sycamores with the thick green clover underfoot and the rustle of the water through the reeds. We sit by the bank where the sunlight pirouettes in gold on the smooth ceaseless river rocks and darts about the tiny brown fish captured in the fluid glass as we quietly, guiltily peel the cotton from our ankles. The intoxication of spice and sweat and steamy summer health rise between us as I reach into the basket. He reaches his arm around me, searching, groping, until his hand lays upon a small green box. I pull the crisp, succulent, greasy fried chicken from the basket and offer him a shockingly chill Yuengling as he impales worms and corn onto the hooks. He burps. The fishing is about to begin.

Ok, so maybe not at all lurid, and maybe it remarks on my frequent choice of chicken over love, but it is what it is.

Also, we've discussed it, and Lenin is also in love with the fried chicken/river fishing outing over anything remotely romantic. God I love our friendship.

I also had a hot dream about a turkey sandwich the other night, but it was too personal to write about.

Ice cream happened. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaagggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......................

Much better weekend this time. Pretty dress, saw pretty friend, and great audition. Shall be famous, shall send you headshots signed by my assistant.

And I always feel like such a grown up whenever I do my laundry. It's like a weekly pep talk telling me that I'm not faking the whole adult thing because I picked up my socks again. Also, because I forbore naming my dogs Sasquatch and Jello Pudding Pop, but that triumph is bittersweet, bittersweet.

Sushi: did you get a donut pillow yet? I'm concerned. Ask Lenin, i'm "a fucking DOLL." :)

There's a 7-11 calling my name and ruining my health. Toodles.

White Knuckles Mean Masturbating and Violence Rather Than Fairy Tale Quests Says Local Poll

2009-05-23T23:07:00.007-04:00

Nice.

I Kick Votre Face!

2009-05-21T16:29:00.004-04:00

I went to The Galaxie last night for a little teaser Apache jam session jobby with AlasGPIM, and it was lovely. Aside from the total pantsness of the fighting and dance/fighting, I hadn't heard of The Galaxie before and am quite excited about it now. Woot.

Also, I remember how much I love punching faces.

Woot.

But poor Benny is having surgery today. I told the doctor that she had a cesarian scar, and he didn't believe me, saying that she probably already had the same surgery as today, but they missed some, and he'd "look around". She weighs 6 pounds dude. There is no around. Don't fuck it up or I'll punch your face. And then Benny will too because she also loves punching faces. Little doggie face punches of death man.

And Loose Leaf has some good music I must say.

And I've decided to stop trying to sort out my life. Please vote in the right hand column and clear up stuff for me. I'm just gonna go to fight workshops and dance class and play with my dogs and Hawkeye and ignore the rest of everything, except USMELgr8 because I love her. :) Aw.

But not you, faceless reader. Well, unless you're Sushi or MariMerkin or one of the dogs. (I think they hacked my accounts.)

........................................

I can't stop thinking about punching faces. :)

Oh! Ribfest! EireStreetPizza, RIBFEST!!!! Aaaagggghhhhldskaueoi ;dlkhare jgsip;uadhflkjads;fj jdsl;kjfd;lkagdsmmmmmmmmmmmm.

A Light Red Wine Deduction Sauce

2009-05-14T21:10:00.005-04:00

Here's a little wisdom from when America was great.

hmm.... I think I got a comment from DLTTBR. How's that for a moniker? :)

I've also been introduced to a great new word: marf

marf- v.- to engage in a trio of sweaty man love with NoShooz and Spitz specifically. ant.- smeh.

It will take more language development to see where else this word may be appropriately applied and if it may be related to other trios of sweaty man love, or if it is just an esoteric term for those living the life.

And has anyone ever actually seen Big Dick taking the nip or does he just have some weird allergic reaction to the NutriSweet that makes him seem drunk from drinking Diet Coke?

This is beautiful.

Sushi, check back next week for incriminating photographs of yourself.

Blargh Blargh Blargh. Get a Job Hippie!

2009-04-01T20:38:00.004-04:00

I love this blog because it has no preparation. It's a self indulgent mental puke for me, and my audience of two can endure it.

Chinchillas!

Also, USmellGr8 and I are going backpacking in Europe after Lennon's wedding. Woo hoo! I thought I was getting too old to go backpacking (it's the Chads and Trixies brainwashing me), but we're doing it. :)

I was just guilted by someone into resigning from a volunteer position because someone else wanted me to, and person #1 was too cowardly to tell me flat out to leave. He set it up and then waited until I took the social cue and said I'd step down (which, to be honest, saves me a lot of headaches), but now is pissed at me because of the situation he got himself into. And I am even finishing the paperwork because I'm a lovely person.

And Super11 called me about a job and I was all happy until I found out that CoPilot was also asked and planning to do it. Wtf? What is it with theatre companies here that have no want of trained actors? They are important. They do the ACTING.

Blarg!!!!!

And my closet has been cleaned.

And I'm in the world of Look Sue I've Got Legs! again. And it's wonderful. And my life is getting fixed with sushi.

Seriously Starbucks????

2009-03-21T19:13:00.003-04:00

I didn't think this day could get anymore craptastic and then Starbucks started playing "A Broken Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley. I think this is the definition of, "I want to kill myself." I hate you Starbucks, I really hate you.

I don't even know what to say about today. It was fucking awful. I've had terrible days, really truly terrible days before, and this wasn't quite as bad as explaining to your mother that no, there aren't wild beasts in her room, it's just her cancer ridden brain tearing itself apart, there's no danger, she's just dying, but it was still pretty awful.

I finally realized something. While I am a master of disengagement and walking away, the reason I haven't been able to do this lately is because I wanted something more for someone. I could walk away from my brothers because they were honest enough to show outright dislike, and I could walk away from bad relationships because they didn't pretend to love when they went downhill. That's also why we could be friends after healing. But going through the motions of love and lying about it to both you and myself is more than I can take apparently. I grew up in crap circumstances but was saved by the knowledge of what actual love is and I never thought that a person would use it as a weapon against others and themselves at the same time. That's the thing about self delusion and ignoring the most simple analysis of one's own mind, it causes anger and destruction to consume you. On my part, I think my fault was having Florence Nightingale syndrome for the first time in my life but insisting on trying to give too much human dignity to the parties involved for it to work. If it ever works. I just can't do it. I couldn't enable self pity and projection and at the same time I couldn't literally slap sense into a person because I couldn't believe the circumstances and it made me as muddled and dishonest as the object of pity. There's a rather inelegant saying about lower class life, "Live in dirt long enough and you become dirt." And I think that logic applies to anything; self loathing, projection of fault, willfully ignoring responsibility. Your mother never tells you outright why she doesn't want you hanging around certain people, but there is a reason more profound than you or she can ever express.

And am I angry? Somewhat. I'm angry that the whole thing happened like this. I'm angry that I couldn't see the situation for what it was at the beginning. I'm angry that because I didn't recognize it, I couldn't change it. I'm angry that I let myself get as confused and quagmired and destructive as I did. Am I angry at someone? There's no point. There's nothing to be done. It's like screaming at the sales girl because prices went up and the foodstamp people are clogging the aisles. She is part of the problem, but she doesn't understand it, and can't do anything about it even if she were so inclined. Why bother being angry if there is no end result to obtain?

Someone has yelled at me for making them "feel like..." insert something bad. When I asked what I could do to change that they told me to not make them feel like that. I can't change the way they feel. I can change my actions but I can't change your reaction to them.

Everything is useless and has been for sometime. There's no point and that makes me very sad on so many levels.

Maybe I have worse Florence Nightingale syndrome than I thought. I actually only run away when it's physically dangerous. Maybe the nice way to say it is that I have too much hope for people and not enough pity. Or maybe it's just that I'm too insecure to tell someone to fuck off at the appropriate time. I need to learn that one from Lennon. Not that he's great at the practice of it, just the expression.

Jesus Flapjacks!

2009-02-27T03:03:00.003-05:00

I talked to EireStreetPizza this morning for the first time in quite a while. Yay! Also, I had a dream about LucidForks that had to do with living in a restaurant and moving to New York. I think Shane was in the middle of it shrugging a lot.

I say Rouw Siert Electra (Dutch for 'Mourning Becomes Electra) at the Goodman! For free! I still don't know where the tickets came from exactly, it involved Dalla, Larry John Myers (an actor I know from Pittsburgh) and an umbrella. Anyway, it was in Dutch and was super crazy discotheque-Mac Book European. And three hours long but it went quickly. That's a huge compliment to any play with a two hour first act in a language that three people speak.

Yesterday I saw two friends' show, Letter X, in Roscoe Village. It was based on submissions of actual break up letters. And there was music with great lyrics like "if you love me, what the fuck".

And I found motivation again. And a great guinea pig idea for the new animation program. It involves disco. :)

Also, Aunt Bucket told me she was going to the Limerick tonight. lol. If anyone can prove she ever set foot in a place even remotely comparable in the last eighty years, I'll buy them a cookie. Or if any of the Stanton ladies ever went to The Bucket of Blood.

And I miss Norm! He should call his favorite cousin! (Also, we should get wings. Move out here so we can get wings.)

Pearls, Cheese Balls, Sailors.

2009-02-16T16:41:00.003-05:00

Long weekend. :)

-Received fabu gift of necklace and favorite perfume!
-Apologized for saying "fabu".
-Also, "whatevs".
-Met up with sailor friend, Beave, and friend sailors, Duke and BeenAfflecked.
-Went to gay bar.
-Sailors are very not-gay.
-Ate brains.
-It was Valentine's Day.
-Got chocolate thingy from awesome friend Tominator2
-Went to old man bar.
-Went to sleep.
-Woke up, unraped. (yay)
-Breakfast skillets with Beave, LES, Duke, and BeenAfflecked. 4 men, 1 me, 0 people buying me breakfast. :(
-Bought cheese.
-Duke made veggie sculpture. (awesome)
-Learned Southern boys really do have better manners.
-Dressed like June Cleaver.
-Put cheese on pineapple.
-Magician friends, Wizard Of Sorts, shoved fork in his nose, did awesome mind and card tricks. Also, he was dressed really freaking cool.
-LES had creepy mustache and smoked a pipe. I think I agreed to marry said mustache.
-More bad clothes.
-Some punch.
-Party games. People really do like acting like dorks, they just need someone else to be the initiator. As I am absolutely unhip, I am your hero.
-Someone made out. Not me.
-Fin.

I've learned that the simple truths of life are that people like shiny colorful things, cheese, anything with eyeballs, and being forced to dress up. If they don't, they're too uptight to like anything at all, so don't bother breaking when they cross the street. :) Also, Rose Kennedy is a great costume idea.

Also, having a magician as a friend is awesome.

The Door Test: If He Walks Through It While Closed, He's a Witch

2009-02-11T21:14:00.006-05:00

Oh, Chicago. You are a rainy windy bitch full of dog poop.

Everyone should go to the Loose Leaf Lounge. It's delicious, cheap, and awesome.

It's been a while since I posted any pictures on here, so I'm going to tell the story of my week in photo form.

In other news, I talked to a guy about an awesome dialect project and am a million years worth of pants excited about working on it.

AND my friend Beave, from high school, is living out this way and I will be hanging out with him very soon. Cool potatoes, I say.

And Sushi gave me an animation program that rocks socks, particularly, my socks.

Rabble, Rabble, Rauh, Rauh

2009-02-09T11:03:00.004-05:00

Big Dick needs to come to Chi town for some Diet Coke.

My niece called me! She is so much cooler than you will ever be, although she makes me feel terribly uncool. This summer she stayed with me for three whole weeks and spewed forth the following words of wisdom:

"I wish that you weren't so old, if you were like fifteen, or even like eighteen, you'd know what's cool and about the Jonas Brothers and whatever."

"I put that tape cassette thingy in the player, but it's broken; no little numbers lit up."

"What's a Walkman?"

"Woo chahhhhh."

And the very apologetic;

"Did I hustle your friend in poker? Was I not supposed to?"

By the way, she's 11.

Also, two of my favorite people in the world got engaged (Yey!) and are now having a religious disagreement about the ceremony as an indication of intentions of as yet unborn children's upbringing. And I have the same views as Lennon, but desperately want Aerandel to know that I love her. It's very difficult to discuss it as I don't know how to counsel her neutrally, and in a discussion with SmellsBon I realized that people think that Atheism or having no religion is the same as not really caring, and it's not. You can be passionately unreligious, or pro secular rationalism, but we're taught to value religious beliefs and abhor or disregard those who don't have them. :( I'm in a pickle as to how to be a good friend to everyone that I love.

The Interior Oozes Class, but the Class, Unfortunately, Oozes Interior

2009-02-05T01:18:00.002-05:00

I am proud of the term, "Jesus Flapjacks".

I became an ordained minister via the internet today. In about 2 minutes. And I'm an Atheist. I love this country.

Whiskey You're the Devil, You Never Change Your Socks

2008-12-23T01:05:00.002-05:00

So let's skip the myriad of reasons I haven't been writing. It's just toooooooooo much.

I'm at GrandmaHemophiliaTea's house for Christmas, which now belongs to my uncle. And I went out for a belate bday dinner with Aerandel, Lennon, and Sushi last night, and there was chowder. Oh my goodness. Sushi picked me up and I remembered all of a sudden that men actually do gentlemanly things like opening doors and pulling out chairs and heating up the car before you have to come out to it. And we had a great chowder, a bland dinner, and a few rounds while the boys yelled about da game. Lol.

Today I slept in, tried to be helpful to AuntieHeart and then Sushi came and took me to a new Mexican place near Montage and bought me dinner. Woot. And tasty. And the six week cycle... I don't know if it's stuck or if it's just over. Whatever. I'm comfortable finally. Then I came home and made cookies with EeorieLeigh and Topher and then dug through year books in EeorieLeigh's room and talked about people from high school. A deep evening, I assure you.

TOMORROW! I'm baking and crafting and wrapping with EeorieLeigh, then a bite with HarryPotterD, and then something with Sushi, Lennon, and Aerandel. Hopefully, not something too liquor-y. But I'm excited as pants.

And the cat is a pirate. Poor thing.

No sandwich. Non poisson. Out

What the FUCK California?

2008-11-14T16:39:00.003-05:00

Every election, one oversized vacation state fucks up the world for the rest of us. I'm hope you get a poisonous fucking orange blight.

I was just ranting in comment on Josh's blog and realized that I can expound upon my anger better here.

So here's the whole of it.

From the early Christian era, marriage was thought of as primarily a private matter, with no religious or other ceremony being required. Prior to 1545, marriages in Europe were by mutual consent, declaration of intention to marry and upon the subsequent physical union of the parties. The couple would promise verbally to each other that they would be married to each other; the presence of a priest or witnesses was not required. This promise was known as the "verbum." If made in the present tense (e.g., "I marry you"), it was unquestionably binding; if made in the future tense ("I will marry you"), it would constitute a betrothal. But if the couple proceeded to have sexual relations, the union was a marriage

It was only after the Council of Trent in 1545, as part of the Counter-Reformation, that a Roman Catholic marriage would be recognized only if the marriage ceremony was officiated by a priest with two witnesses. The Council also authorized a Catechism, issued in 1566, which defined marriage as, "The conjugal union [...] contracted between two qualified persons, which obliges them to live together throughout life."[16] This change did not extend to the regions affected by the Protestant Reformation [17], where marriage by consent continued to be the norm.

So the long and the short of it, marriage is two people saying I want to be married and then having sex. And all this religious conservatism bullshit is because the Catholic church figured out that it could get a little cabbage by moving in on the whole matrimony scene. That's right, millions of Evangelicals, Mormons, and other hatefully pious groups that teach generosity, love, and yes, sacrifice of material goods and MONEY, have built a moral indignation on a corporate coup de grace.

Realistically, if the church were as honest with itself now as it was then, it would totally support gay marriage to get a little more silver in its grubby palm.

And let's address this concept of gay marriage lessening heterosexual marriage. Number one, we have over a fifty percent divorce rate in this country. The straight people in this country don't take it seriously. Are you telling me that Britney Spears and her thirty six hour Vegas rendez-vous into the world of "I do" is SO intrinsically sacred as to be belittled by George Tokei's marriage to his partner of twenty some years, to whom he had to fight tooth and nail for the opportunity to show his commitment and love and devotion in the same ceremonial process as Ms. Spears?

And if I open a deli, because I am expected to open a deli, because every movie and story I've encountered since childhood always has the heroine open a deli in the end, is my deli ruined because some gay guy also had a dream to open a deli? Is my deli less deli-esque? Does the bread go bad? Or the salami loose it's zing? Fucking no. It's still my deli. To love, honor, cherish, or divorce upon a whim.

We were the one of the last countries to get over that whole African slave thing, we were even later in realizing that my uterus does not make me mentally retarded and unable to hold a mind numbing office job where I only make 76 cents for each dollar Larry the crack addicted sex offender makes in the next cubicle, then we couldn't make our minds up if being a non-slave voter really meant that you shouldn't get hung for walking down the wrong street in Mississippi (not that I advise that to all hues to this day), but now, we think that the difference of to whom one chooses to express their love as a consenting adult in the privacy of one's own home, should prevent a person from exercising basic human rights. America, what the hell? You used to be awesome, and now you're just an overblown windbag of a fratboy who has no perspective, and can only talk about your acheivements playing high school football.

AND, another thing that pisses me off is that Christians have this ignorant habit of interpretting their bible literally. First off, most of that crap was written by guys who weren't really there and had a propaganda type agenda. THEN it was translated. A lot. Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Irish, English, on and on and on. How many Evangelical churches perform services in Hebrew? And once it actually got into English, it was updated for several reasons. To modernize the language. To serve the agenda of King James, who by the way, was a total twat. And then again just this century to be more "accessible". Are you telling me that there was never an exageration, an idiomatic expression, a typo, or a political point that came up during all of those years of rewriting?

SO, let me put this very simply. Ask a Jew, because their book, the book that we took and fucked with for a few thousand years, is still in Hebrew. The sins at Soddam and Gomorra were SEXUAL VIOLENCE, molestation, rape. Not homosexuality. It wasn't that a male mob wanted to boink each other and male (be it non-human) angels. It was the HATE, and VIOLATION, and ABUSE that was horrifying. (And has anyone noticed that he threw his pore teenage daughters to the crowd? Another point that says that that god either wasn't paying attention, or he was a douchebag.)

Being gay is not a sin. There are homosexual encounters in the wild all the time. Raise two male dogs in a heterosexual human household. They will hump each other occasionally. Get over it.

In conclusion, I would like to restate my main points:

-Get over it.
-Work on your own crap marriage and don't worry about anyone else's.
-The church is all about money, and your love was a good place to go adiggin'.
-Stop preaching hate and calling it love and piety. You're an asshole.
-The bible is about the same as Mein Kampf and has about the same amount of objective reality to it.
-Rape is fucking awful, worse than almost anything I can think of. Gay sex is just sex. And if you hate all sex, you probably hate yourself, and need a lot more help than this blog cares to give.
-Dogs hump.
-Get over it.

My God, Pickles are Delicious; and I'm an Atheist!

2008-09-26T20:31:00.002-04:00

Well I knew the pickles would out me at some point. So I haven't been writing much this year for a variety of reasons. I'm continually busy (picking up poop), I don't have a laptop (because I pick up poop), and I have felt a rift between you and I and have thence decided to horde my brilliance all for myself.

THINGS I'VE LEARNED TODAY: Everyone's an idiot, trust the selfish, and don't buy multicolored carpets.

TODAY'S GOOD STUFF: A History International special on crazy Roman emperors and their horse loving and their brother killing, and their complete and utter lack of pupils. The streets of ancient Rome must have been terrifying, and also either very, very bright or very, very dark.

I'm going to France. I'm tired of this saving and waiting and preparing for old age bullshit. I hate things as they are now, so I'm just taking what I want finally and saying fuck it. Also, I've realized that "Fuck it" is an emotion. Lennon taught me that. I think it may be his only emotion, however. Oh well. Fuck it. Anybody wanna come to France?

I'm Keanu Reeves Today, and It's Not That Dirty.

2008-07-04T02:46:00.008-04:00

Hello reader. It's only been about seven years since I've written. Let's get updated.

-I'm working on Orra by Joanna Baille, directed by LES
-LES dumped me
-After making sure I'd come to the last two shows
-Dormiparfum and I are moving my shit out here finally, and going to Cedar Point. Woo hoo.
-My niece is coming to visit. She is ten and cooler than you will ever be.
-I'm really excited about not dating anyone. I know that sounds a little funny, but I've been thinking about it, and the last time I was single without an immediate viable prospect was the summer after Sushi and I broke up, and I think it will be good for me to concentrate on my own life and what I want, and need to be doing.

Musical, and partially recorded thoughts for people I haven't talked to in a very long time.

Got on a bus
went to a plane
my new life's not the same
we're not Bogey and Ingrid
during the war
there's no need for drama
anymore

you need to let go of me
stop standing in front of me
you need to let me walk on by
you can't let go and you don't care why
but there's such a brave tomorrow
I hope you find tomorrow

My trainer told me he knew all about the surgical procedures of a sex change operation because he watches Nip/Tuck. Yet he wisked me away from people when I talked about the Naked People Play.

EireStreetPizza, you need to get your phone fixed. Or found

Wise Cheez Waffies are freaking delicious. You know it's a high quality, gourmet product when they spell cheese with a "z".

And there are stories to come. :) It's your fault for reading.

Yesterday Today, Tomorrow is Last Week

2008-05-22T23:42:00.003-04:00

Well, Grandma HemophiliaTea passed away at the beginning of the month. I really thought that she was gonna be the one calling people when I was carted away from some nursing home. My Aunt called me on a monday to say things didn't look good, so I got on a train that day, had a change over in Pittsburgh, and scheduled a breakfast with EireStreetPizza, made the meal date, missed the connection, but by some stroke of luck, he was headed back to the 'dale that day. I went to his place while he got himself organized, and we took a nap and then I got the call. That poor guy always seems to be the one with me when I get the call. And you're wonderful, thank you.

We headed home, and after rediscovering Wise Cheez Waffies on 28 somewhere, I got in around 9 pm and found my Uncle's family at the table. My cousin immediately gave me photo work to do. I was totally grateful. I spent that first night alone in the house. My uncle had changed the locks so that someone actually had a key, and offered to lock up before he left. When Grandma was alive she never locked it, but I was safe? Was she secretly a ninja? Maybe.

Well my Aunt Greenie showed up the next day and jovially yelled at me to clean stuff for days, and a bunch of other family related things happened.

"It's OK, Daddy Just Wet The Bed."

2008-04-25T22:03:00.001-04:00

I had a whole lot of gumption about ten minutes ago to write, but it's done now. Oh, well. I had some great tea biscuits today.

Smurfy Fists of Fury.

2008-04-20T00:53:00.005-04:00

The Green Scene was today! A good introduction into the fair booth world. My trainer came, and he doesn't even have a dog. Talk about service. My two good friends that work for scary scary GreenPeace weren't, however. Punks. It was great to finally see customers face to face and see what they liked and why.

And I have been awake for 63 hours so far. I thought the bushes in front of my building were a local gang fight. The closest thing to a gang is a group of Loyola kids drinking and playing sack toss on their lawn.

AND I got a letter from someone who saw Why Harry Through Away His Pants and says they have a crush on Blue. (But not Jocelyn,....somehow. lol.)

And my website is still isn't working properly, even though Sushi has been totally awesome in trying to sort it out for me. I called him because he's House, I never thought he couldn't do it. Hopefully it'll get it's shit together by monday.

I have Steve Zoussou and Tex Thomas calling me to bed.

Holy Crap Spackle I Feel Old

2008-04-04T23:48:00.002-04:00

So... it's been a while. I'm not a good blog-girlfriend I guess. I'm in Chicago now, saving the world one day at a time, by giving dogs mustaches.

So on the following subjects, check out the following things.

Green Pet Care- http://www.leashwecando.com/

Salut! Je veux toi

2007-09-07T05:29:00.000-04:00

September 7th, 2007 by judywhatjudywhat

Hazaa! Tonight was a good night. ChinaDoll and I went to Fuel and Fuddle to meet a friend of hers and WildIrishBanter for drinks, but shifted to Joe Mama’s. (aren’t I always right?) Ten minutes in, Big Dick shows up. I swear that man has installed a microchip in me. ChinaDoll and her friend segregated themselves a bit, which made me feel bad, but I spent a lovely night with WIB. Do any of you know if Budd Cort was in the movie MASH? Just settling a bet. For the first time since I saw LES I felt unlike an androgynous, amorphous blob, which I thank ChinaDoll and WIB for in equal portions. WildIrishBanter suggested about fifty bars and restaurants in Chicago to me, none of which I remember. Also, for the millionth time in my life, we discussed the failings and foibles of Shep, and one of the kids told me they thought he had a glass eye. I promised one of them I’d ask him b/c he’d just think Kori Mallon was being rude to him anyway. Kristie closed up bar early, and I didn’t get to talk to BartenderDan as much as I would have liked, but I’m hoping to get to one more night out before I leave. WIB.
In other news, I took care of arrangements with my bank, AES, the IRS, and the postal service. I also got the chinchilla packed and groomed, and I’m pretty psyched about next week. Wish me luck. And an anvil on P.E.

Out. Tabhairt faoi. I will.

Ugly Retard Babies.

2007-09-01T05:36:00.000-04:00

Good lord, I want a cuppa, and some digestive biscuits, and to not hear which ex is fucking which ex’s ex, and who’s cheating on whom, why no one is going to tell them, and why being straightedge is lame, and blah, blah, blah. I like my friends, I hate yours, and let me be.

I saw Cuchulain on a little goodbye night yesterday. Awful bar, good company. StarryStarryNight came, which was unexpected, and turned out to be better company than he has in months.

I’m stripping and redoing my diningroom table tomorrow and I’m excited as all hell. It hasn’t been refinished since the fifties and I’m going to make it look fabu. I wish more people said "fabu", although I was pleased just to hear someone say "bombastic" the other day.

And I talked to JD again, and I feel better about the drammmmmma here. Swearing a lot, and calling people "ShrekGirl" helps me release much of my vicious humors.

An Evening with Tony Blair

2007-05-06T22:32:00.000-04:00

Yey, SkinnyMcRunsalot. I hope that graduation day continued to exist in the vicinity of cloud nine. Yey. I actually feel bad using that nickname. But I'm sure I'll get over it. :)

How on earth is Dani related to Andi? Anyone? Just wondering.

Today was great. I covered a shift for another girl at work, which worked out fine and I got my nails done, then I came home, took a three hour nap, and after trying to find transport to TMNTNJ's on Mt. Washington, I settled for the Spice Cafe with Cuchulain, his bro, gf, and cousins. Great pics. And I ran into many many friends there that I haven't seen in a while, and continued to Shakespeare'sBank. More photos. Saw Reese and some others. Lovely night with a friend.

I still feel bad that I couldn't get up the mountain, and I hope TMNTNJ doesn't take offense, I did try hon, but I couldn't find anyone that was headed up and I had not the funds to transport myself. I am a poor lameass, I know. I will make you a Leonardo shaped cookie or something.

And now I'm in the exciting world of laundry and loan consolidation, which I'm actually pleased about.

I think I'll conservatively say that the last twenty four hours was, mmm, well yes, it was pants.

GRAPPLES

2007-04-30T22:31:00.000-04:00

Grapples! I came home to see a container entitled: "GRAPPLES! They look like apples, they taste like grapes! Ingredients: apples, natural and artificial grape flavors." I hate our freedom, too, if this is all we've done with it. In the "greatest country in the world", I expect, at the very least, mutant apple-grapes, damnit.
I saw The Hoax last night and wrote a big ole' blog entry about it, and then it got deleted when the computer froze, so screw it. See it yourself to decide.
And it's spring, and it's warm, and we're all moving and the world is beginning again. And I ate a lot tonight.

It All Comes Out in the Wash

2007-04-28T22:29:00.000-04:00

Hi Lung was here today and all went well. Saw the One Acts tonight. SausagePantsHippie was rather good, which pleased me to watch. And I saw Jesse and Quinn as the leaders of the Westernly perceived free world; as they should be. lol.
WT is drawing a tattoo of a sandwich with, instead of an olive on a toothpick, a little skull with a pimento in its mouth. It's so ridiculous that I almost want it. And Hawkeye got a new chewproof waterbottle today, lucky thing. I got shampoo. Lucky me.

Thirty Thousand Lira for a Kiss and All of Italy for My Attention

2007-04-28T22:23:00.000-04:00

I think the Italians drive so damn wildly because their cars only weight about eight and a half pounds.

I know that "out of the mouths of babes" comes truth, but do out of the Mouth of Truth come babes? Like flesh recycling for all those fabled lost hands.

I had a most arresting series of dreams last night. At some point I was being thrown out of a bar, but the part I remember most was being with a group of friends from here at Joshua Dejardin's father's house which was apparently in Florida some place and the size of a great cathedral or hall, the like of which I have only seen attributed to dwarf engineering, never human present day reality. We had some event coming the next day, some grand performance or appearance or ceremony, and everyone in our group was up late in anticipation. I was passing through a porch-like area with MicMicMic and for no apparent reason he kissed me. Now, in real life, I think MicMicMic is a fine person, but there's never been anything between us, so both the waking and sleeping versions of myself were quite surprised by this turn of events. But it wasn't just a kiss, and I'm still trying to understand what my mind concocted. The kiss was the important thing, not the who. It was slow, but sure. It wasn't forced, but my permission wasn't asked, it was as if he knew it was what should be and knew that I was aware of it. It was the kiss you imagine without knowing what to ask for. All the greatest kisses that have ever existed in fiction and history each had a small part of what this was, but only a part. It was too perfect to exist in waking life. It was a kiss that let you stop looking for anything ever again, the zenith of life. And it was a dream. But at least it existed there. I half awoke to the sound of Cuchulain's morning music, and fought my way back to it, only to be swept along in the tide of change that exists in all time, be it life, fantasy, or story. All goes forward. And this group in my dream went forward to a sort of war. A diplomatic mission gone awry, if you will. WonderTwin and I entered a great room where the Dejardin's guests were circling in procession as at the beginning of a royal ball. We circled another ring, in a motion between stalking beasts and Wheelers, as WonderTwin barked her demands, rude, superfluous, demands, first met, then declined, then challenged as the dignity of this occasion turned to blood tied tension. And I could not understand why my group was so concerned with accumulating needless things when I could be experiencing that kiss again.

It's like escapism when my own love life is now non-existent. Survival technique maybe? lol.

And those are the poorly described events of my night.

"Adored" and "Ignored" kinda sound alike, right?

2007-04-25T22:27:00.000-04:00

The title for this post, is apparently the "single most obnoxious thing [I've] ever said". I luxuriate in that knowledge.

One of the massage therapists at work decided to "cure" my headache today by doing this horribly painful neck pinching thing that she loves, and when it wasn't working she grabbed about half my neck muscles and vital blood vessels to the point that I couldn't move my cartilage to talk. It felt like having my throat torn out. It made my head throb in a way that no benevolent creator could have ever intended, and when she triumphantly released her atheism affirming grip on my coratid, I immediately had a sort of tension shiver down the left side of my body and my leg is cramping up again, worse than it has in months. Thanks, Linda. I might lose your paycheck on Friday.

And I found out that I can do paperwork with my hands covered in paraffin. It's probably not very efficient, but that late in the day, I didn't really care too much.

I totally miss GrandmaHemophiliaTea like pants. I keep trying to sort out the next six or seven weeks to see when I can go home, and I have no answers yet. pout.

And I am desperate for some Tick Tock's Crab Chowder. Linda, my chowder buddy, I shall return to my homeland just to eat some chowder. Oh, lordy, it is good.

I saw a tee shirt of Voltron with his last arm going into place with the quote "You Complete Me." I warmed.

I reread some of my old journals today, and I find it remarkable how many times that I've commented that sex (in general) would be so much the better if I was eating a big turkey sandwich in the middle of it.

"Spring is Never So Trying As When Your Heart is Full and Your Arms Are Not."

2007-04-22T22:25:00.000-04:00

That quote was my mother's graceful way of saying people get horny like bunnies when it gets warm out. I guess you have to be British to have that much class.

I got up at the crack of afternoon and went to see the matinee of "Reefer Madness" with RyMo. Brilliant. Well cast, well directed, well choreographed. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed myself at a show so much. And I say this without that infamous love of pot that makes people adore bad productions of this show. It was simply wonderful. And I saw Dr. B. there. She looks good, says she's feeling alright, enjoyed the performance. For the first three years I knew her, my name was "Tony's Girlfriend" and now I have finally been upgraded to the dignity of, "that blond of Ricardo's". Despite what you may think, I am pleased at the change. At least she didn't call me Kori.

And I'm finding a photographer for my musical endeavors. Now to work on the music.

And now I have to practice. I have to do a right cramp roll from a right toe touch and I need practice. I also found out that my left cramp roll is all but extinct. Glory be.

Thirty Thousand Lira for a Kiss and All of Italy for My Attention

2007-04-21T22:23:00.000-04:00

You Can't Back Peddle, But You Can Notice There Are Others in the Race

2007-04-16T22:22:00.000-04:00

I had a horrendous day, but now it doesn't matter. I got a note from LG'sGD today. No matter how horrid my little problems may seem, they got smacked right back into perspective. A friend of mine from high school has just had a family issue beyond anything I could ever imagine. My five darling drama queen siblings haven't even ever been able to do anything to compare to his ordeal. He lost a parent not long before I lost mine, but piling what's just happened on top is something I can't even begin to imagine. And now my crappy day or week or living situation just doesn't hold water when you think about it.
I'm going to go to bed now and be grateful for my own quiet little mundane strife.

Egg Yolks Are Little Existentialist Balls of Sunshine.

2007-04-15T05:41:00.000-04:00

DKitty may have leads for my home hunting issues. Yey!

Now I just need to talk to LES for more than thirty seconds to try to sort out my life. Considering you’re the only one besides Ann that ever reads this, (HINT), I want to talk to you if you’re ever not in rehearsal, or work, or asleep. And hopefully soonish. Also, I miss you. And I had a dream about your hair (not one of the previously listed bad ones) and it got me all hot and bothered. I may have been heard to exclaim over the vapors.

Aerandel, you, also, need to be involved in my conversations with you. Are you busy Mondays after school’s out? I’ll try to call.

I read about Feng Shui occasionally. I don’t know how seriously I take it, but there is definitely a psychological link to your surroundings. They had a tip of the day that said to delete old emails and voicemails to let new people into your life and let go of old hardships. I figured it couldn’t hurt, so I cleaned out my inboxes and I actually do feel better. It might just be related to the high I get from having a clear out or redecorating, but it’s good either way.

I’ve been such a miserable old sot lately that I’ve gone back to meditating and forcing myself to write about something happy everyday, be it here, or in my journal, and to be completely honest, it makes a huge difference. Forcing myself to concentrate on something or someone that makes me happy for ten minutes a day puts me into a better frame of mind for the rest of the day. I prescribe great medicine, I just don’t always take it, alas.

Ok, now a happy post.

A Small Poor Person in Love with Fitzgerald.

2007-04-14T22:18:00.000-04:00

Everytime I go to the Smiling Moose, I get totally boned, and it sucks. Once I went as the DD for a friend's birthday and the group split in two with dislike of each other and I had to run up and down Carson all night while being treated like crap by a bunch of drunkards. Another time I had to say goodbye to someone special b/c my friend had a romance that put mine on the back burner, and then I never saw that someone again, not that I'm crushed or anything. Rather not.
And then tonight is worth mentioning. WonderTwin's new girlfriend is in town and she decided to make a social event out of it. While I am poor and sleepy, I did not really have plans on going tonight. The two of them stopped by and WT says to call later and find them. After much debate I decide that it might be seen as a slight, and I didn't want to offend her gf so I call to find they're at the Moose and since I was going to drive down, I call MicMicMic and Jaeger (sorry, no nickname) to see if they want a ride. MicMicMic stays home, but Jaeger, Hooper, BetterThanSullivan, and PhilWintersFan join me and we finally find a spot in the rain and hike a few blocks. The same damn guy I see everytime I go there looks at all of my forms of ID and tells me to go screw myself. I told the four of them to go on up. Cuchulain and some girl I've never seen before were heading in and I tried to call WT without much success. Then I had to wander in the rain because I'd forgotten which block we'd parked on. I was the DD and I had to basically sit with my thumb up my bum in the rain until they ran through and kicked everyone out. And then the after plans were cancelled and I drove everyone back. Everytime I go there I am sober, and I end up taking one for the team, which sucks, but wouldn't bother me except the team doesn't take one for me ever. And that's my bitchfest for the night.

On a lighter side, Jaeger informed me that my bitch at the symphony piece being recognized by Google had just become hot news again at PPU. One shouldn't be pleased by one's own poor behavior, but I'm not feeling like a very big person and it seems more like inexorable justice.

And may I say that This Side of Paradise is wonderful. It doesn't have the succint efficient beauty of Gatsby, but he discusses things that I've run my mind over before without ever having found in literature of any form, while expanding upon them in directions I hadn't imagined. And it was his first novel. Brilliant. It makes me giddy for The Beautiful and the Damned.

Today I was cleaning and sorting laundry, and I made a pile of things to repair and it impressed upon me how truly poor I am, and have always been. The things I work so hard to keep in one piece are cheap poorly made possessions, knock offs of a decent idea. Every week I mend and reattach and polish and repair and redye in the efforts to make an acceptable appearance, and I barely squeak by. In the sort of society that I keep, one can only being poor if they are brilliant and beautiful at the same time. I'm getting older and I'm doubting more and more of what I make. And I'm getting tired of being hungry, and not seeing friends because I haven't the money for a Coke. I'd better either strike upon a million dollar idea or become convincingly astounding pretty damn soon.

Bad Dreams

2007-04-14T22:10:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I was having a refreshingly contenting day, and after a long day of clacking, I came home and when I went to sleep I was assaulted all night long by the worst bits my mind could conjure. Starting with the more mundane bad dreams, the first was a conversation with the long since dismissed Clapper telling me that he didn't care for me because I was "cold" and had a "tired soul." Knowing Clapper, if he had had the collective ability or courage to ever present such sentiments, he would have used much bigger words, a few wrist flicks, and a reference or two to Darwin. And an audience would have been necessary to watch his pitiful state as he spoke the text.
After recovering from my confusion and laying down again to my rest, I had a dream where, for whatever reason, I was Donna Jo Tanner. Stephanie, thank goodness, had been struck from the world. All the extensive man-family they have had inexplicably been removed, and the DJ-self that was I, and one of the creepy monkey like Olsen twins found out why the mother really wasn't there. She decided she just didn't like the kids. Even though we'd gotten rid of the middle one. Cold man, cold.
And beyond my interrelationship strife as demonstrated through the Clapper and Full House I had one final dream. To compound my Freudian field day, I had created a world between middle ages peasantry and 1950's movies. I was Marlon Brando, I shit you not. Poverty was a crime, (much like this porn I saw called "U4") and so, as the poor waited atop high bushes, a man, who looked suspiciously like Tyler Hodges, came and systematically murdered them each with metal implements that reminded me of Victorian yard equipment. In the course of this sequence, I watch the end of each person in the most minute detail to show the lacerations to their cheek bones, bits of yellowish fat deposits peeking out of the opened flesh. The sound was awful. There was no screaming, but the dull chink of metal tools hitting bone, the muffled cracking of the skull until the gaping mouth was turned toward me releasing the exacting noise of the process. There was a hiss when the first cut was made in each body as the organs' heat hit the suddenly icy air. Brown spots of coagulated blood appearing in the milky eyes. Skin became waxy and yellow. And the smell of blood, so much blood that it grew pungent and choking. When he came to me, I did something that no one else had thus far. I fought back. I took a heavy brown medicine bottle and hit him in the ear. He reeled back and I beat him again and again until his forehead gave way in a mash of hair and blood and bits of bone over something that was just a little too firm to be familiar. I am aware that I've seen death before, but I didn't know that my mind had the capacity to create such detailed horror. The peasant slaughter line revolted, enraged that I didn't keep my place. I ran. A teenage girl pursued me, and I backed down a hallway crowded with party goers as she jabbed at my ribs with a kitchen knife. The hallway lead to a dark diner. I tried desperately to explain the logic of self preservation to her and got as far as eliciting an untrustworthy promise not to pursue me immediately if I left. The dream faded out as I went outside, and slink-ed along the side walk until I was out of sight. I woke mid-run.
I don't know what the hell was going on with my imagination last night. I haven't remembered a dream in almost a week, and then that.
I wish that I had some charming tale of my own cynical brilliance with which to follow, but unfortunately I must leave you with this.

Bad Dreams

2007-04-14T05:39:00.000-04:00

The second dream I had, which began normally, and developed into a lucid dream like state, concerned LES. The ability of choice, while not improving the situation, made it all the more taxing. Either he came to stay with me, or I went to visit him, it wasn’t quite clear, and the place was nondescript. LES had a girl in tow, a cross between Phoebe Cates and this nail tech at work, and while proclaiming his affection for me, informs me that due to housing difficulties, he has to sleep with her that night. Does this sound familiar? Suspiciously like what another did on the very day I met LES… Anyway, I drifted out of this into that shaky area between lucid dreaming and the waking world struggling to lose the hurt and animosity I’d acquired. I should point out that I write this here as a warning. Phoebe Cates, know your place.

After recovering from my confusion and laying down again to my rest, I had a dream where, for whatever reason, I was Donna Jo Tanner. Stephanie, thank goodness, had been struck from the world. All the extensive man-family they have had inexplicably been removed, and the DJ-self that was I, and one of the creepy monkey like Olsen twins found out why the mother really wasn’t there. She decided she just didn’t like the kids. Even though we’d gotten rid of the middle one. Cold man, cold.

And beyond my interrelationship strife as demonstrated through the Clapper, LES, and Full House situations, I had one final dream. To compound my Freudian field day, I had created a world between middle ages peasantry and 1950’s movies. I was Marlon Brando, I shit you not. Poverty was a crime, (much like this porn I saw called "U4") and so, as the poor waited atop high bushes, a man, who looked suspiciously like Tyler Hodges, came and systematically murdered them each with metal implements that reminded me of Victorian yard equipment. In the course of this sequence, I watch the end of each person in the most minute detail to show the lacerations to their cheek bones, bits of yellowish fat deposits peeking out of the opened flesh. The sound was awful. There was no screaming, but the dull chink of metal tools hitting bone, the muffled cracking of the skull until the gaping mouth was turned toward me releasing the exacting noise of the process. There was a hiss when the first cut was made in each body as the organs’ heat hit the suddenly icy air. Brown spots of coagulated blood appearing in the milky eyes. Skin became waxy and yellow. And the smell of blood, so much blood that it grew pungent and choking. When he came to me, I did something that no one else had thus far. I fought back. I took a heavy brown medicine bottle and hit him in the ear. He reeled back and I beat him again and again until his forehead gave way in a mash of hair and blood and bits of bone over something that was just a little too firm to be familiar. I am aware that I’ve seen death before, but I didn’t know that my mind had the capacity to create such detailed horror. The peasant slaughter line revolted, enraged that I didn’t keep my place. I ran. A teenage girl pursued me, and I backed down a hallway crowded with party goers as she jabbed at my ribs with a kitchen knife. The hallway lead to a dark diner. I tried desperately to explain the logic of self preservation to her and got as far as eliciting an untrustworthy promise not to pursue me immediately if I left. The dream faded out as I went outside, and slink-ed along the side walk until I was out of sight. I woke mid-run.

I don’t know what the hell was going on with my imagination last night. I haven’t remembered a dream in almost a week, and then that.

I wish that I had some charming tale of my own cynical brilliance with which to follow, but unfortunately I must leave you with this.

I'm Being Snotty Tonight.

2007-04-11T19:54:00.000-04:00

I once told Aeran that men who talk about feminism are either like marketing majors with perky tits in the second row who catch a glimpse of actors screwing around behind the cyc and decide that intention equals respect, or they're third graders who think they'll get to go sooner if they just do the work for the day's last lesson, without being sure of what it is. I am obviously not a "feminist". I'm a person, despite what the government thinks.
And in other news, I was walking around in my Devil Wears Prada worklife today, and I realized that I'm a clacker. My soul's groaning a little. Parents always say you have to pay your dues, but what they don't tell you is that the majority of people have to choose between settling, or creating. And that creating comes with an extra twenty years of "dues".
I was thinking about education today- Aw fuck it, I'm exhausted. I'll ponder my own brilliance and how I arrived at it tomorrow. I think I know Amory Blaine.

I’m Being Snotty Tonight.

2007-04-11T05:38:00.000-04:00

And in other news, I was walking around in my Devil Wears Prada worklife today, and I realized that I’m a clacker. My soul’s groaning a little. Parents always say you have to pay your dues, but what they don’t tell you is that the majority of people have to choose between settling, or creating. And that creating comes with an extra twenty years of "dues".

I was thinking about education today- Aw fuck it, I’m exhausted. I’ll ponder my own brilliance and how I arrived at it tomorrow. I think I know Amory Blaine.

Tool

2007-04-07T21:53:00.000-04:00

My books are here. Yey! Wondertwin just came to alert me that there was "a weird package" on the porch. It was my box, and a green Easter egg with the Tool logo. She was freaked out, I was just confused. I actually called LES and left a message in my search for an answer. As I was hanging up, it dawned on me what type of dork calls people tools and would leave an egg on the steps. Cuchulain. He left BrownSownd one that said "Poop". Good wishes for the holidays I guess.
And did I mention my books are here? Yippee. I finally have something to read. Not just something to read, but Fitzgerald books that I've never read before. That alone is a feat, but the fact that they got here is even more amazing. Woot.
Also, I've even gotten off my lazy bum and gone through the three hour hassle of having my nails shellacked so that they look like... well, a shinier version of my nails. And I played with that Hydroxy mask that makes me look like a waxy burn victim before I peel it off in one big sheet. Girl stuff is neat.
And (how soccer mom of me is this) I've started a geneology project involving GrandmaHemophiliaTea. I'm a dork and the old lady side of me always liked this stuff (and antiquing) but most of the research or projects I'd worked on with my mom over the years disappeared with my brother two years ago. The fun part of this is that it's something I can do with my gram, and she has crazy stories about everybody. My mom knew them, but some sort of Southern belle propriety kept her from airing it all. My grandma is as that age where you can say whatever you like, touch whatever or whoever you like, and everyone still thinks you're sweet. I used to admire how cunning my grandmother and my dog both were for the positions they had made for themselves.
And finally, when I got out of the shower today, I combed my wet hair back into a ponytail. Then for no reason, I combed the ponytail itself straight up in the air and it stayed there a foot above my head. It's still up there. I'm very pleased with myself.

La Frato Vendos La Knabinon.

2007-04-07T19:52:00.000-04:00

So I've got a new job, glory be. I'm an administrative assistant for a spa company that caters to the large pored and wealthy at the Omni. Great. They told me that I have to wear make up everyday, dress fashionably, keep my roots done, and that a pedicure is required if I wear open toed shoes. I'm sure that somewhere inside of me there's a fat girl with Doc's screaming, but to be honest, it's nice to be somewhere where I'm expected to look like a woman instead of an androgynous blob. I like to do the things they've required. (Except for the toe thing. My zest for foot primping has been crushed by my beloved's inherent disdain for that part of my innately flawed body. I weep.)
I had a most disconcerting dream last night. For no apparent reason, I was getting married, and everything about it was wrong. My cousin, Karl, was planning it, my hair got messed up, it was inside instead of outside, oh yeah, and the whole big, neither of us wanted to get married part. As my dream self was wrestling with that whole I-don't-know-this-person-and-am-not-ready thing, John Shepard shows up and gives me this little life lesson speech that sounded suspiciously like an Army commercial (I fell asleep with the T.V. on) and then my intended appears, and instead of the guy I was expecting, it was my friend Linda. I told her I was sorry but I like the rod. She called me a lame ass and we went to the bar to play pool. I think this means that I'm afraid of being sold as a political pawn by my family to a powerful lesbian country. Or that I should see if Linda wants to play pool.
And my Fitzgerald books should be here tomorrow. Woot. Woot, indeed.
I'm halfway through my Esperanto course already. The efficiency of a planned language is astounding. I've already picked up more than my first year of French taught me. It may be lacking in aesthetic beauty, but the function of it is titillating.

Displaced Trailer Trash Dreaming of Being Displaced Euro Trash

2007-04-06T19:50:00.000-04:00

I think that's how I'm going to describe myself from now on.
I miss you CelticPagean!
I FINALLY got my modelling check from Macy's today, and as I was about to dash to the bank and buy a last minute ticket to go home for the holidays, it dawned on my that they most likely cancelled and reissued it. And being Good Friday I don't know if the banks are open. They close for everything, right? I know I couldn't cash in my penny rolls on Michaelmas. Non-secular capitalists, I'm going to smack you.
And in other financial news, I finally got around to filing my taxes online today. Usually I get a decent federal return, close to a grand (itemize kids), as for this year, because I did a whole bunch of 1099-MISC contract work that isn't taxed for me, I get a refund of forty one dollars. I'm sending it to GrandmaHemophiliaTea's. Forty one dollars is a fortune in that town.
And the other grown up thing I've been doing is reorganizing my personal finance paperwork and other important documents. Every month, I put stuff into a filing system I made, but I haven't overhauled it since before my mom died. I am ashamed to say that I'm finding way more than I expected. For a while, she was on my bank account, and then when she got sick, I took over her finances. The thing is, while I was meticulous about hers, I never bothered to see where she had been concerned in mine. My dear mother, apparently, had made payments on little things that I thought I still owed a balance on. I found neatly banded little piles with "Paid In Full" written in her hand writing. I could have cried. Not just from the relief that I don't owe my dentist anything else, but it was something so terribly kind of her to do. She didn't need to, I wasn't being chased down by dental hygenists looking to smash my kneecaps or anything, and I certainly know that it wasn't because she had the money just laying around gathering dust. Anyway, there's my sentimental bill paying story for today.

Who's a Better Kisser? Me or My Grandma?

2007-04-04T19:47:00.000-04:00

My grand friendship with Big Dick is based on two things. The fact that we both have a passion for language and it's development, and the fact that I'm twenty four.
On the former, his love of the term "jack" led me to a site today with the most clear, concise definition of a word ever.
"Lollipalooza: a humdinger."
You can't beat that.
I had an inpromptu job interview today, of which I have high hopes. I need medical insurance, and it may be at the cost of my soul.
Does anyone know anything about The Bucket o' Blood? I realize that I'm addressing this to a very small part of my potential, but unmaterialized demographic. My ex's stepgrandfather is a man named Harold, who is around 90. He has the peculiar distinction of being the only man on this Earth (to my knowledge) who tried to get somewhere with my grandmother, my mother, and myself. You have to give the man credit for his moxy. Almost 70 years ago, when he was after my grandmother, she didn't go in for it because he had a reputation for being a bit wild, and frequenting The Bucket o' Blood. Forty years ago, my mother shyed away from him due to tales of his earlier days and the notorious reputation of the now closed Bucket o' Blood and its former patrons. Five years ago, I declined his advances (which I must admit were much less aggressive than in my grandma's tales. I didn't fear for my maidenhood, but he is the only man that's ever made me blush) due to the fact that I had dumped his grandson a few months prior, and his reputation and that infamous place from generations ago still resounded in my mind, making one question this dear old man. I'd like to point out that when I knew him, Harold was not lecherous or dirty. He was a dear person who always treated me kindly, but occasionally did things like kiss me in the grocery store, in a very non-grandfather-type way. Lol. He remarried at 70 something and his family always seemed to treat him like a bumbling old man, and I always wondered if they knew what things he'd been up to. He always greeted me with, "My, Judy, you always were a good looking girl." How can you not like that? Anyway, wild Harold and the Bucket o' Blood have been on my mind lately, and I was wondering if anyone knew anything about this mythic place. I could call my ex's house, theoretically, but I don't think he would enjoy that, nor his mother. Let me know what you know. :)
And that's about all I have for right now.
LES, what's to know? "I dig you, baby, you're all root." lol.

My Lack of "Couth".

2007-04-02T21:46:00.000-04:00

In passing, a close friend of mine inquired as to the general well being of the Lord of Erotic Syntax. I said some things that I'm sure she won't recall tomorrow, and somewhere in my brain there was a release of that chemical that makes thirteen year olds giggle incessantly and stalk boys at the mall. I am such a dork, but I'm a happy dork.

He Pontificates the Same Way He Fornicates.

2007-04-02T19:45:00.000-04:00

In my extensive search for meaning and funding (not necessarily in that order) I stumbled across a bit about socks that I enjoyed. I do despise quoting people in order to define yourself through hero worship, but I found this mildly entertaining.
What I've Learned-Albert Einstein
"Smoke like a chimney, work like a horse, eat without thinking, go for a walk only in really pleasant company.
Certain people find everything boring.
I discovered that nature was constructed in a wonderful way, and our task is to find out the mathematical structure of the nature itself. It is a kind of faith that has helped me through my whole life.
With fame I become more and more stupid, which of course is a very common phenomenon.
The dog is very smart. He feels sorry for me because I receive so much mail. That's why he tries to bite the mailman.
I am a deeply religious nonbeliever. This is a somewhat new kind of religion.
Anything truly novel is invented only during one's youth. Later one becomes more experienced, more famous — and more blockheaded.
Nationalism is an infantile disease, the measles of mankind.
I have reached an age when, if somebody tells me to wear socks, I don't have to.
Nature shows us only the tail of the lion. But I have no doubt that the lion belongs with it, even if he cannot reveal himself all at once. We see him only the way a louse that sits upon him would.
Newton, forgive me."
Compiled from Albert Einstein: His Life and Universe (Simon & Schuster)
With this article was a link to a message board discussing who the smartest man in history was. The latest ten posts were below the link. Nine of them said it was Jesus. One guy said it was Hugh Heffner. One of the former opinion stated that Jesus always was with and indeed was God, and that Jesus was always, and indeed was a man, and man is made in God's image. This, they argued, made Jesus the smartest man ever. It appears to me that they just levelled the playing field and assimilated God, Jesus, and man to equal status, therefore, wouldn't that make God and Jesus and every man on the Earth equal in ability and worth? And wouldn't that kind of ruin your whole religion bit? All of that aside, they never mentioned what God or Jesus did that was so smart. Jesus got a bunch of hippie Jew converts persecuted and killed by lions, followed by centuries of wars, conflicts, hating thy neighbor because he differs on the way you eat your wafer. I think you can say that Aristotle did a bit more for us. Or at least Copernicus. I never was told by a boyfriend that I was going to burn for all eternity if I didn't believe math the same way he did.
I watched a lovely documentary on Queen Boudica of the Iceni tribe of western Britain. It was a typical underdog story, except at the end the underdog took poison because she led all of her people to slaughter. Great.
And what does it mean when Roman historians describe a woman "She was quite as tall as a man, her face, terrifying." What is meant by terrifying? Is she really ugly? Or psychotic, deranged in appearance? Or is she just fierce looking? How does a girl look terrifying and how can I learn to look as such? I would enjoy people describing me as that. Especially if I were getting married. "The bride wore white. She was quite as tall as a man, her face, terrifying."
For years I've desperately wanted one of those giant wall maps that they have in 7th grade geography classes. The ones that warp the shape of the countries near the poles b/c it's trying to put something three dimensional onto a two dimensional model, and Greenland is the size of Africa. Or at least a globe. I asked for a globe for Christmas all the time when I was a kid. I got a set of Children's Encyclopedia Britannica instead.
A guy that I was friends with in high school, but kind of, well,... This sounds pretentious, but it's true; I outgrew him, and then I didn't try to keep in touch. Anyway, he sent me an IM today just chatting about what we've been up to where each of us lives, etc, etc, and he tells me that he ran into my ex from high school at a bar. And I waited to hear the rest of the story but that was it. I don't even think he talked to the guy, but he seemed to expect something from me. He told me my ex was going bald. I said I knew. And he kinda waited again. And then that was it. That was the end of the conversation. Sometimes there are conversations where I get the impression the entire conversation is to elicit a specific emotion. I've previously referenced this experience as Daisy Buchanan's description of the birth of her daughter. I'm never sure what to do, what it is that someone wants. I try to figure out if and when I do it in my own life. There are times, certainly, that I want information from people, or I try to get them to do something without spelling it out, but I can't recall just trying to get an emotion from someone. This is something I don't really understand, but I don't like the way it feels. There's just something reprehensible about emotionally raping people. I complain about it a lot more in theatre. Tiffany.
And on a high note, I just now flopped back on the floor and my lower back made a deafening popping sound and a great deal of the pain that's been accumulating everyday for a week was released. Chiropractors creep me out because I've known ones that claim they can cure cancer, but maybe having someone crack my back occasionally would help. I haven't asked anyone to do that for me since I lived at home a couple years ago. And actually, my back and nerve problems started after I moved back here. Hmm...
Nothing makes the earth seem so spacious as to have friends at a distance; they make the latitudes and longitudes.- Henry David Thoreau
49°29'0"N, 16°40'0"E
54°35′0″N, 05°56′20″W
33°52′06″S, 151°12′31″E
51°30′25″N, 00°07′39″W
41°53′0″N, 87°39′0″W

I am Prolific, if Untalented.

2007-03-31T19:43:00.000-04:00

I've been writing obsessively for the past twenty four hours. Things with plots this time. And songs. And poems. I haven't written poetry since I was nineteen, mainly because I haven't been miserable enough to have to do it since then. I read TheFrenchman's blog for the first time the other day. I haven't really had any contact with him since he played the lead in a One Act I wrote and produced for my senior project. We worked on a newspaper together once upon a time, and I always liked his writing style, but he has definitely polished himself since then. It's so crisp and enveloping. I love to see anything done well, and it was lovely to encounter. Anyway, the whole point of this is that I was feeling nostalgic, and to be honest, aside from this blog, my journal, and the odd scene here and there, I haven't written much in months. Comparatively, I haven't written much since I went to acting school, but we all make choices, right? That's what my guidance counselors always said as they put brochures glamourizing the idea of being a "Language Arts Educator". And they told Lennon to give up guitar, nuns won't like him. Perspective.
Anyway, I'm feeling better, and using daily writing prompts .
And it's evening and I'm tired, which makes me want to sing, of which, coincidentally, I am also somewhat out of practice. I've been asked to sing "At Last" for a friend's art night jobby (there's that great vocabulary), and I'm afraid people will have their senses crossed and remember that the paintings sounded awful and the service smelt bad.
Have you ever woken up with a craving for a certain taste? Today I drifted back above my pillow to the cool white breeze with the want for Verdi Spumonte on my tongue. I am, if you cannot tell, not the sort of individual who happens to have a few bottles stashed in the basement for an emergency soiree. I have my bedroom stashed in the basement for an emergency escape from a frat party. As my mind wafted back from the Fitzgerald-esque reality it had created, I realized that it was indeed my Finn's day off, as I did not have one, and that instead of champagne, I only had Kraft dinner. *Discontented sigh of fallen aristocracy.* lol.

Backyard Milk.

2007-03-30T19:40:00.000-04:00

When I was little, we lived next to the elementary school. The lime green Victorian clapboard that we rented had a backyard that was as wide as the house and the space where the car parked next to it. The little back porch was closed in by lattice work and had a small closet that was full of my brother's Tonka trucks, and metal tractor trailers, my Skip It, a rusty pogo stick, some Army men, and a few sand toys. The steps led down to flag stones that made a path from the back door, past the car on the side of the house, and to the sidewalk on our busy street. The stones enclosed a square of earth on either side of the back steps. On the left was my brother's, and on the right was mine. Every spring my mother would help us weed away the dead bits that had been buried by several feet of snow all winter, and neaten the edges of our squares. She took us to Bold's Garden Center to choose whatever we'd like to plant. In a year when we had the money, we'd get tender little plants to put in the ground. If we didn't have it, we'd make a big show of buying Burpee packets of things that couldn't survive our short summers. White Carrots. Watermelons. Peanuts. Giant Pumpkins. Sunflowers. All for a couple of squares smaller than a stove top. She never tried to convince us that things wouldn't grow in our climate, or that there wasn't enough space. "I certainly don't have a green thumb, maybe you kids know something I don't." A.J. loaded up on manly things, vegetables, herbs. Men grow parsley, not pansies. I planted petunias every year. The deep purple ones were my favorites, but they always died first at the end of the summer. I liked zinnias because I thought the name sounded like a flamenco dancer, and nasturtiums because I could eat them, even if they weren't tough like potatoes and beans. That's also why I grew clover. I didn't plant it exactly, I just waited until the tart light green stuff showed up flaunting it's little yellow flowers, and then I always managed to skip it when Mom made me weed. The clover and the nasturtiums were my crops. It proved to my brother that my pretty garden could still yield something useful. He never seemed to notice that the marigolds Mom always sneaked in were also what was keeping the bugs away from his food.
I had some yearly visitors that came if I wanted them or not. Beautiful wild day lilies, bright orange and gold stretched out of a mass of green ferns next to the foundation. I was proud of the lilies, because they were the biggest flowers I had, they were the showiest, and no matter what I did, they were always there the next spring. I took credit for their inherent heartiness. But the ferns... They were too hearty. I battled with those ferns. They fully intended to take over the Poland of my garden with their sly Nazi march toward the white wire fencing. Despite their ill intentions, I couldn't bring myself to kill them, to rip out their little dusty bodies and toss them in the trash. So I gave them out to new unsuspecting adoptive parents. What to get Grandma for Mother's Day? A big planter full of ferns! What to plant in the school garden for my Earth Day project? Ferns! What to cover with at the side of the house where I dug up all the moss to make a moss turf mansion for the black ants I trapped? Ferns! Every relative, neighbor, and teacher I'd ever had ended up with at least one giant planter full of ferns. I even cajoled my mom into taking me on a fern relocation outing. I planted them at the cemetery (apparently you're not supposed to put rampantly growing plants on every grave without a flower, we got a letter). I planted them at the park. I took them all the way to my Uncle's farm and planted them in the woods (reuniting them with their people I felt.)
As much effort as I put into the ferns, they weren't the only backyard residents that we spent time trying to relocate. Next to my square, under the edge of the porch, my brother and I had a little garage for our bikes. One brand new shiny Huffy had been given to each of us one year at Christmas. Edgy splatter paint jobs, and color coordinated tires, we were so cool. We were even so cool that we convinced our mother to let us ride them through the hallway and sitting room considering there was three feet of snow outside that winter. I was utterly contented with my chic pastel wheels with a canvas zip bag, not a basket. I had no thoughts of any other bike. My brother however, was a collector, and a trader. He traded our Pogo Ball for a yellow and black scooter, which he took the brake lines off of. He traded his Snow Panther sled for a lime green Schwinn with black pegs, which he took the brake lines off of. He traded the snake's head from our tree house for an old black 10 speed, which he took the brake lines off of. He traded three sets of brake lines for his first pack of cigarettes. Anyway, we had at least half a dozen vehicles parked there at all times, for two children. Truth be told, half of his bikes were never used. Our only other multiplied guests anchored a few of them securely in place over the years, before being hacked apart with a hatchet that he traded cigarettes for at some point.
In the very early 90's, I remember my school telling me I had three duties. I was to do my homework. If I didn't do my homework, I would be held back, and be the big kid in class. I was to tie yellow ribbons on everything I could find. If I was a good girl, I would support the troops, and by propagandized extension, the war, which, it seems we didn't get right the first time. Someone didn't tie enough yellow ribbons. And lastly, I was to cover every inch of God's green Earth with Douglas Fir saplings that would be provided to me by my teachers in little baggies with clear gel on their roots. The Earth was dying, and, as an eight year old, it was my sole duty to save it for those brave boys fighting overseas. They would be very sad if they got back from Iraq and there was no more Earth. So don't leave that sapling in your desk, you're ruining the Earth.
So every three days there was an Environmentalist/ Conservationist/ Arborist/ Horticulturist/ Douglas Fir Overstock holiday, and I came home with a ten inch stick in a plastic baggy. And we had to plant it. (I had dreams of hundreds of tree houses made of ply scraps and chicken wire and filled with vanquished snake heads left and right.) And the trees had to have room to grow. We can't put it there, that's too close to the house. We can't put it there, that's too close to the forsythia bush. We can't put it there, it'll get trampled on. Our lawn looked like a fledgling Christmas tree mine field. Which had to be mowed every Saturday. We had a rotating blade push mower from the 1950's that my mother insisted we wear snow boots when using. My grandmother used one just like it. She was also missing four toes. The iron contraption weighed at least as much as my brother and I combined, and had no steering ability whatsoever. We would push it forward a foot and a half, back up, drag it around a Douglas Fir, push it another foot and a half, back up, drag it... On average it took 8 hours to mow our tiny yard, and it looked like a mangy cat when we were done. Not to worry, we had dull garden shears from the 50's too.
The pay off for this torturous labor, was that Mom gave us a certain amount of backyard respect and freedom. She never came near the one tree house that did exist, and she let us throw anything (biodegradable) over The Bank that struck our fancy. Pine cones, dead birds, failed bows and arrows, all met their fate at The Bank. "The Bank" was at the back end of the property. It was a 15 foot drop of staggered trees, bits of coal, and night crawlers for the taking. As a child, I never questioned why there was an unexplained cliff of earth, or why it was covered with anthracite. Everywhere in my town there was anthracite coal. We used to gather coal, red shale, and granite to make war paint. Years later, studying an 1870 map of the town at college, I realized that our acclaimed D&H canal used to have a side bit that flowed through our playground. All the coal had fallen off of barges headed from Carbondale, PA to New York City over a hundred years ago. This also explained the mystical "Tunnel". If you followed the bank a few backyards toward the river, there came a stone overpass. Underneath was a 15 foot path from the sunken playground, up in grades to the street. Not knowing what it was for, but knowing that the darkness of The Tunnel and its proximity to the river made the neighborhood parents nervous, it was a magical, holy place. At the mouth of The Tunnel were great iron rings embedded into the rock. The end of school day ritual was to dupe the teachers, sneak around to the back of the school, and race to The Tunnel before anyone else. You grabbed the iron rings and pulled yourself up, frog style, to scramble to the top of the overpass, and then you sat in the pine needles and waited. If the approaching party was friendly, you would hold up a bit of fence at the side of the overpass to give them easy entrance to your towering lair. They now sat keeping guard with you. If they were foe, it was perfectly expected to throw pine cones and needles, to proclaim to the world that they had lice, and, of course, to refuse entry to your castle top. The downside of this system, was that sometimes we weren't the first ones on top of the overpass. Sometimes, we'd get to the ring, only to be pulled down by some larger kid with dirty fingernails that smelt of bologna. That's when I'd go looking for a Y shaped stick and try to look innocent as I asked my mom for rubber bands (illegal to anyone under 18 in my house), hoping that she didn't see my pocket full of rocks. When the rubber band petition failed, I'd make aforementioned war paint and patrol The Tunnel on my Huffy yelling gibberish, claiming my clan was going to have their vengeance until my mom yelled my name out the back door for dinner.
In the summer we ate outside at every chance we got. We'd sit at the picnic table with our chicken legs and Kraft mac and cheese, while Mom tried to push apple sauce and peas into our lives. And we drank milk. We always drank milk. Don't get me wrong, I love milk. To this day, I'll drink almost a gallon per day if left to my own devices. But I knew that there were other things out there. Soda existed in far off places like McDonald's, but not here. Soda attracted bugs and it made my teeth feel fuzzy, so I got over it pretty fast. The thing that I wanted was tea. From the first day of summer until the first frost there was always a tall glass of iced tea in my mother's lean browned hand. She made it herself, boiling, steeping, and checking before pouring it into a clean milk jug. And then she'd dump cups of sugar into it. We weren't sweetness deprived by any means, we were given choices in our diets. (My brother chose to eat all of his Halloween candy in one night and threw up so much that even now he would rather have meatloaf for his birthday than cake.) But this tea embodied the best of all worlds. It was grown up. It was sophisticated. It was what ladies and gentlemen drank. And it was FULL of sugar. And I was unfortunate enough to have a mother whose sense of responsibility prevented her from giving her children massive amounts of caffeine and sucrose before bed. So we drank milk. Which, aside from being good for children, is full of tryptophan, and very effective as a last meal beverage. I didn't like drinking the milk outside very much. I, due to my years of experience, have become a milk connoisseur, and am very particular as to the condition in which it is served. Milk gets warmer, faster outside. I prefer indoor milk consumption. Near the refrigerator. At a young age I made my lactose concerns known to my mother, and she was very kind as to never permit the sin of leaving the milk on the table for the length of the meal. In exchange, I promised to stop sneaking downstairs in the middle of the night and peeling all the layers off the onions. She always kept up her end of the bargain, but I struggled with mine. It was very tempting. To clean off layer after layer of skin. To make it neater and neater. After years of peeling problems, I can proudly say that my fridge contains untouched onions. And labelless jars.
I'm not the only one in my family with strange habits. We were all equally afflicted. My brother forcibly uses bad grammar. "He brang it over." Brought. "I said, He BRANG it over." My brother's not dumb. Quite the contrary. Aside from his shrewd business dealings, he was a bit of an innovative genius. He made a tattoo gun out of a Walkman, a sewing machine needle, and a Bic pen. And he even cultivated someone that would let him try it out. Not long ago, our friend, Phil, had had a few too many and was feeling nostalgic as he told me, misty eyed, "See that line on my hand?" "There?" "No, right there." "I don't...oh, there?" "Yeah, there. That line, I'll have that line for the rest of my life. That's my childhood right there, man. My CHILDHOOD. On my HAND."
When we were kids, with a smile, A.J. could convince anyone to do anything. He'd look up at you from under his eyelashes, his blue eyes growing ever so slightly darker, and the way his cheeks pulled back in that glorious grin, it was evident that he knew he was going to do something sly. And that he was going to get away with it.
I wish that I could say I was always immune to it, but even I fell. Over and over and over again. At the innocent age of six, I celebrated the holidays and felt rapture over my newly acquired Peaches and Cream Barbie. I had also received a Kool Kuts Kara doll, in my mother's efforts to prevent me from styling my own hair with safety scissors again. A.J. on the other hand, had received a helicopter and Army outfit for the Ken doll my mother had given him previously, and a Jake the Snake wrestling doll. He was much more enamored with Jake the Snake. He spent hours in his room talking tough to it and smashing it into the floor. Desperate for my older brother's approval as I was, when I traveled past his open door on my way to get a glass of milk, I was enthralled to be invited into the restricted Holy space.
"Hey Jude,..." A.J. spread that great wide grin at me.
"Yeah?"
"Have you ever seen a REAL wrestling ring?"
"No."
"Look here." He indicated his bed which had been stripped and had shoe laces circling from the knobs. "Pretty cool, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Have you ever been IN a REAL wrestling ring?"
"Uh uh."
"You wanna?" He smiled at me.
Now, I had known my brother for my entire six years of life, and despite age or cognitive development level, there are just some patterns you recognize. I KNOW that if I get on that bed he's just going to sit on my head. If I'm unlucky, he'll try to fart. I want him to want to play with me, but I haven't done anything for him lately, there's no reason for this great show of seeming goodwill. But as studies have shown, the want of something can actually cause children to lose sight of objective reality momentarily. I got on the bed. And he sat on my head. And he fart-ed.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice.... Well....
After much whining and yelling from underneath my sibling's butt, I escaped downstairs to my milk, Peaches and Cream Barbie, and Fraggle Rock. And as a stingray circling an aquarium tank, my mind was a blank slate as I walked upstairs again.
"Hey Judy..."
"Yeah?"
"Whatcha doin?"
"Nothing."
"Have you ever seen a REAL Jake the Snake wrestling doll?"
"Uh uh."
"You wanna?" He smiled.
So I was kind of a stupid kid. I knew the pattern. I understood the smile. He wasn't full of ill intentions all of the time, but when he was, I always managed to fall for it. I desperately wanted Peaches and Cream Barbie to have a date for the ball. A.J. put Ken in his tux, and then started talking like Sean Connery and shot her for being a double agent during the waltz. After school, he threw a snowball at Mrs. Mains the librarian, and when she chased him up to the house, he said it was my friend Crystal knocking for me. He asked me to go fishing with him, and then made me dig up a whole can of worms as admission. He was smart.
He wasn't always a jerk though. I swear it had something to do with the moon. He could be a little beast all day, and as soon as dinner was over he'd calm down and be as sweet as pie to me. Maybe Mom's tryptophan cocktail did more that I suspected. We'd sit on the livingroom floor, he in his Superman jammies, me in my Lady Lovely Locks nightgown, and we'd watch Nick at Nite. We were supposed to be in bed at eight o'clock, but, over time, we'd negotiated with Mom to let us stay up through the Mr. Ed theme song. Occasionally, we'd get to see a rare episode, but usually passed out before the end. And despite the talking horse, it was kind of disappointing. No color, and after the opening titles, no more singing. However, it was nowhere near as disappointing as the opening to Bewitched. A catchy song, and a great cartoon, and then it was the black and white ones. I couldn't stay absorbed long enough to care about the magic bit until they started showing the color episodes. Anyway, after the opening to Mr. Ed, Mom would take us upstairs, and we'd crawl into our beds and wait for her to come to listen to us say our prayers and give us a drink from the blue plastic bathroom cup. As a grownup, I don't have a bathroom cup now, and I regret that. Mom would go to A.J.'s room first, then to mine, turning out my Cabbage Patch lamp and leaving my door wide open so the hall overhead could, comparably, wash me in the blinding light of day and prevent the Killer Clowns From Space from grabbing at my feet. (Mom yelled at my cousin Nicki for showing us that at five. They're killer clowns, they're from outer space. They come, capture people in giant balloons, wrap them in cotton candy cocoons, and then suck out their blood with twisty straws, as killer clowns from outer space are wont to do.) We'd listen to Mom make all sixteen steps downstairs and start up the clack clack clack of her sewing machine before crawling into our closets on top of our toy boxes. The closets lined up, and were very good for talking because the wall in between was thin, but the closet door kept giggles from drifting downstairs. Sometimes we made plans to sneak downstairs after Mom was asleep, then hide under the couch and eat from the sugar bowl. That one always worked out well. Especially when we'd fall asleep under there, and my mother was screaming frantically trying to find us in the morning.
Sometimes we'd go into the bathroom, and ever so quietly take everything we could reach out of the medicine cabinet and dump it into that same blue plastic cup. When it was quite full of toothpaste, Sucrets, rubbing alcohol, and Dimetap, we'd make a flourish of adding the Alka-Seltzer for dramatic effect. Then we'd try to convince the other one to drink it until Mom threatened to come upstairs and we'd run wildly to our rooms, jumping the last few feet to avoid the Killer Clowns under the bed.

Shaun Hall of the Dead

2007-03-29T20:00:00.000-04:00

Ok, so, as I mentioned, I like watching ghost shows. I was watching "A Haunting", and there's this young couple buying a haunted house, great, and the guy looks suspiciously familiar. I comment that he looks like a scruffy Shaun Hall. They finally showed him close up, and I had to look it up. It was indeed the one and only Shaun Cameron Hall. And I had a, "hey that's great" moment, followed by a "wait, now I can't pretend to get scared by the ghostie show" moment, followed by a "damn it, Shaun" moment.

"Achtung, Habiere!" "Achtung, Penny Lindblum!"

2007-03-29T19:38:00.000-04:00

Learned a lot about Hampshire Court today. Or rather about who died there. Every once in a while I get this need to watch British shows about ghost hunters. It's scarier when they use soft r's.
I've been working on making a few new dresses and other things, mainly because I'm broke and I want new clothes because I'm a girl. I was pressing obi folds today, and I mentioned to a friend how deeply I enjoy the woosh of a good steam iron with independent steam and spray buttons, and they remarked that I have a severe fondness for simple things. I could choose to take this in the you're-charmingly-observant-like-Amelie Poulain way and not take it as I'm being called a simpleton. I started to think about this, and at the risk of sounding like Kevin, and discussing my own process of examining myself and my own tendencies and then going to a world of verbal self-reflection, I think I've just learned in the past few years to take notice more often of the small engineering improvements that people have developed to make devices more efficient. Not in a techno joy sort of way, just how things have evolved to give me the life of leisure that I complain about every chance I get. Like when I have to hike 500 feet to do my laundry while I play minesweeper, or when my Ipod runs out of power while I'm jogging to the library. I'm trying to continue to cultivate that lovely feeling of riding the train past a steel plant. It's almost better than sex. Almost.
I received another letter from my German pen pal, Arvid, today. I never had a pen pal when I was a kid, when it wasn't creepy to have a pen pal, but I met this kid (not a kid as in legal suit to follow, a kid as in someone my age working for BMW) in Florida on my spring break last year. We had a lot of time to kill, and listening to a young educated person from another country discuss life philosphy and world politics is a decent way to do it. Plus, I loaned him a book that D gave me and I forgot to ask for it back, so when we started emailing, I decided it was a good idea to keep up so I could get the book back. Turns out he, and the book, are in Sydney right now, and a platonic intellectual friendship that lives in my inbox is far better than hearing about weed and collegehumor.com from those around me. (Disengage? I am Amelie. I do like breaking creme brule...)
And I hate to say this, but I heard this song by this teenage pop singer that seems to want to be Avril Lavigne for some reason, but it's one damn good song that I want to use as my pop standby. The thing is, I don't know the name of it. And.... I heard it in a Barbie movie that I watched with my niece at Christmas. I'm positive that no one would know it in an audition, it's got range, and it's got a bit of a story line. And it's a good song. The chorus uses the phrase "save the world by noon", which may be the title, and the girl's name is Skye Sweetnam. If anyone has kids and has seen this movie, or if anyone reading this is 13 for some reason, let me know if you have any info. And let me just add this bit of bitching; when I watched this movie (Barbie Diaries, 2006) with my niece (9) she was delighted with it b/c it's got Barbie, she's a teenager with great clothes, lives in California, and gets the boy in the end. When I looked for it on IMDB to find the song, I read comments from parents about how they didn't care for the fact that in this movie Barbie was portrayed as a teenager, with the normal concerns of a teenager, and that this character goes through a learning process in which she makes a few bad decisions before learning a functional lesson and then making efforts to correct her behavior and proceed in a different manner. They were disappointed that she had weaknesses rather than magic. I personally, would rather have my kid watching this than some of that fairy crap. It's still entertaining, but actually teaches girls something beyond how great their outfit is. And does anyone remember that Barbie is supposed to be 17? She's supposed to be a teenager worrying about going to dances and crap. Ten year olds want to be 17 year olds. When I was little I thought my teenage cousin Nicki was way cooler than fairies and princesses. Teenagers, just by being teenagers, are exciting when you're little.
I can't believe I wrote that much about a Barbie movie. I love kids, but I tend to hate their parents. (As anyone without their own kids will say...)
I stumbled upon my brother's MySpace for the first time today, and I must admit it felt very, very strange. According to MySpace at least, he and I have a lot in common. He sounds vaguely charming, like someone I would want to know. This may be why I always liked his taste in friends. Yeah, he sounds like fun, and I bet we'd get along except that we differ on one little issue. He thinks I should rot in hell, and I don't.
Oh dude, I found Feargas today too. Holy crap. He's an Irishman that I gave a blond to a few summers ago (I tend to give out blonds. Check back for more details), and then he spent a month going to Irish pubs in NEPA with my friends for the sake of irony and then offered to kick my brother's ass for no reason. Awesome.
Anywho, teenage fashion doll angst aside, that's what I've got. I need to feed the chinchilla.
P.S. If you made it to the end of this completely inane post, here's your reward. It's actually from my friend JoMa's blog, but it's one of the most entertaining philosophic summaries I have ever read. Enjoy.

Breakdowns Charlie Brown

2007-03-27T19:36:00.000-04:00

I am at my wit's end. What is the point of pouring over dozens of scripts everyday if no one wants to do anything with them? Augh. Half my company is so intent on creating perfection that it's not willing to learn to grow, and the other half is in lala land waiting for art to appear. I am finding things, beautiful ideas, and I fear that they're just going to remain just ideas lying in my inbox, hoping someone will take them and create something from them. And I feel like I'm coming to an impass. Previously in my experience, I had just charged on independently if need be, with varying results. I feel that the group dynamic of this project is dead before it's gotten to its feet. No one wants to commit to anything, no one is excited about an idea to keep it alive for more than a week. There are pieces I understand to be wanted, or performances I believe that are supported, only to find in a week when I've started pulling research and toying with direction ideas and staging concepts that, no, we apparently aren't that interested. I have no desire to produce crap, however, I'm not afraid to make a mistake. It's going to happen. I just want to get things going. This is too long. And I have plays to read now.
Last night I had convinced myself to call the GGC today, which is terribly out of character considering that I don't like groups of people, let alone groups of people with an interest in my personal affairs. But then again, the fact that I dislike them is kind of why I was going to call them. It seemed like a wonderful outlet last night, and today it again seems ridiculous and unnecessary. I don't feel like I need it, but I feel some sort of shame for going into shut down toward it. All my life I was told that you need other people, you need to talk to other people, and have the emotional support in order to survive. I always heard from the masses that you needed to emotionally vomit all over each other to be content. At home, I got a message more like, if you don't think it's any of their business, then it isn't. Which, if you haven't guessed, is how I've worked things out for myself. And today, because I don't want to call the GGC, I feel like I should feel guilty. That's why I don't like groups of people.
I just now accidentally stumbled onto this guy's blog. Uwe Heidschoetter. And go here too. I love his sketches, this is just pants.

Lederhosen Bear is not a Wuss Ass.

2007-03-25T03:32:00.000-04:00

I am such a wuss ass. That's one of my mom's words. Synonym for wuss ass? Boob ass. And I say that Grandma has strange phrases.

Anyway, I am such a wuss ass. I spend two seconds talking to Lennon and Aerandel and I'm turning into a fucking Lifetime movie. (The boring nicey-nice ones they advertise at Christmas about friends and family where everyone cries because they're so damn happy to see each other, not the rest of the year when they're all about being raped by your father who falsely accuses you of murder in order to steal your husband and convince your children to hate you for being a meddlesome whore before getting them hooked on crack and knocked up in middle school by some creepy old guy on the internet who kills them and dumps their bodies in the woods, causing you to have a makeover so you feel pretty enough to kill him in Oprah-justice revenge before ending up in jail again.)

Anyway, Aeran's a huge sap and it made me a sap instead of the dude in our relationship. And Lennon is a songwriter. I think that's enough said. Besides, I knew them at fourteen when I believed the song lyrics and love at first sight and that my mom knew nothing and that someday my brother would get it together. And they remember when I wrote stupid plays about this shit. And they still talk to me. Why? Because I have dirt on them as all childhood friends should.

I have an Aunt Sis. I still say that before I realize how creepy hemophilia-prone-grandma-wants-me-to-marry-my-cousin-you're-descended-from-Lord-whosits-and-live-in-the-sticks it sounds. And Aunt Sis is a southern Baptist who psychic-ly talks to her cat. I get double points for that one.

It's the beginning of the nice season in NEPA, the five minutes that make up for the three year long winter season. Or at least if you're in the country it does. There's room to move finally.

I'm back on the scary big grown up thoughts, and it feels good to get things together. "Nothing is ever frightening because you can always take an action and change it." That's either Ayn Rand or The Incredibles. I can't remember which.

Just a final thought, solidarity motions are retarded. The only thing I've ever heard of as being done in "solidarity" is a guy shaving his head b/c his kid lost her hair in chemo. And the guy didn't call it solidarity. It's like people who use the word "respect" often. In my experience, they are the people who appear to have the loosest possible grasp on the term.

And we'll end on a happy thought. I stumbled upon lederhosen bear today.

One more note. I sent LordofEroticSyntax a nude photo of myself, and today he told me he would never open another pic from me again. I'm highly insulted. If you would like to receive such a photo from me, just let me know. And Sushi, it does not contain any of the Golden Girls, it's just me. (Insert dirty noise)

Yeat's Grave

2007-03-25T03:24:00.000-04:00

So WonderTwin and I met BigDick at Joe Mama's to discuss things, and after BigDick left and WT became engaged with CVSBlueberryTeaBoy, I decided to be discreet and leave them to chat for a bit. I went to the bar to chat with BartenderDan, whom I wish had a better nickname. I like BartenderDan because he reminds me of my cousin Ryan, never leers at me or anything, and my ex was threatened by him. (Did I mention he's shorter than me, looks like a kid, and has no game?) Things were fine until he decided for kicks to practice a line on me- (Sushi does this too, I think I'm a safe practice dummy because, as Lennon told me "You're, like, not a girl." Thanks.) -and BartenderDan tells me that a girl with a pretty face shouldn't let her hair cover it up, and he reached over and brushed my bangs to the side and saw my lumpy nose and my black eye. I have only ever experienced three moments in my entire life when I've actually been embarassed; once when I was seven, once when Harold Bishop decided to kiss me in the grocery store (the man has hit on three generations of my family), and last night with Dan. I really didn't know what to do. I can usually laugh off anything, or make a smart assed comment or something but I just froze, and he got all embarrassed and started apologizing, he said he was sorry, he didn't know. So he gave me a free soda. That makes sense in the same way that I tipped that old guy that pulled the roadkill to the curb. lol.

Lennon told me today that he's working with Sushi on JHAF as well as the rest of the score. I'm excited. A plot shall exist.

I keep writing things and deleting them, there's not a single man in my life in any capacity that I have the ability to deal with right now. And my chinchilla keeps masturbating everytime I go to feed him.

Mike Got a Haircut and He Lost All of His Colors.

2007-03-21T03:25:00.000-04:00

I ran into M&M today for the first time in who knows when. He greeted me with a comment akin to, "I thought you'd dropped off the face of the Earth." I later ran into Chops who expressed a similar sentiment. It dawned on me that when you're in COPA there is the COPA world, and the non-COPA world, and if someone is in the non-COPA world, they don't exist. lol.

Desperate for a haircut. I wish I had a useful tradable skill. How's this, I'll do some Brecht for a wash, cut, and style? I'll throw in 16 bars of an up tempo, maybe some Sondheim, yes? I'm useless.

I ran across an ad looking for two actors, a male and female, who are in a real life relationship, for a film project. Just a day or two ago I was considering placing a similar ad to begin my artistically integrit porn empire.

And I found an ad for a foot model, turns out it's for an erotic foot model. The difference? Uglier shoes. And what people do with the photos. That's about it.

I wrote to an old friend, FloPornWaffles, and told him I had a dream that we were spelunking together, and that every cave just leads to a Japanese McDonald's. First thing today, I receive this photo and message.

Fuck!!! Its just another fucking mcdonalds......
I'm hitting the road shortly, kids, and I'll entertain you with quaint tales of the backwoods when I return.

Yeat's Grave

2007-03-20T03:24:00.000-04:00

Bingo Worker

2007-03-19T03:22:00.000-04:00

I love the fact that every text box in Explorer is now guessing at what i'm going to write, and it has nothing to do with anything I've previously written. Hence, "Bingo Worker".

So WonderTwin got LondonLois and I to do this scene for a contest for the LWord. And now they want us to come to Palm Springs. In twelve days. And I'm wondering where the airfare is coming from. But, it's a chance to meet some people. And I've never been to California. And I just realized that it's warm there and I have no warm weather clothes, let alone, California warm weather clothes. Chucky!

I talked to the LordofEroticSyntax today and he had to go b/c the elevator was coming, and we had an awkward ring off that I wasn't completely aware of until five minutes later.

And who the hell is it, one of my dude friends from high school or back home or something, that said they love the L word? I thought it was Sushi and he's unaware of the origin of the thought.

I was trying to explain to GrandmaHemophiliaTea today that I was going to Palm Springs for a contest where I've been filmed as an unwed lesbian basking in a morning of post-coital glow as my other unwed lesbian friend is just returning from a moist night of promiscuity and whatnot. I love her, but there are certain words that 86 year old Republicans do not like to hear from their granddaughters. These include "unwed" "lesbian" "promiscuity" "post-coital glow" and "moist". I'm not sure about "moist" but she doesn't seem to like it when I say it. I told her it was on Showtime, not a family show, and that it was "gritty."

And I love Charlie and Lola, and anyone who questions that can sod off.

HIding Out

2007-03-17T03:18:00.000-04:00

Okay so maybe travel isn't the right catagory but it's close. Couldn't find LordofEroticSyntax or even Grandma HemophiliaTea. I think she's in the hospital again for fluid in her legs, but I have no time left on my calling cards so I can't even find out. If anyone back home reads this, please write me if you know anything.

On the upside, I found Lennon via email, and I have a chance at survival.
I fainted today in periodicals. Cause that's where you wanna fall over and smack your head off of some CMU kid. Size four here I come.
I also saw a kid today who had to be around eighteen but he looked a few years younger, but the strange thing is that he looked EXACTLY like Sushi when we were in ninth grade. I shit you not. I've seen people that look similar to folks I know, but if I weren't aware that Sushi had gone through puberty and bought some better clothes I would've started talking to the kid. It was creepy. Same eyes and hair color, same haircut, same dorky straight medium blue jeans and blah colored sweater pushed up on pasty toothpicky arms (sorry dude but it's true, and I shall destroy you with my chopstick wrists). Freaking weird. I wish I had had a camera. Oh, and get this, he was reading a Star Trek book of some sort. Someone get the kid a Wegman's hoagie. Yeah, I said "hoagie".

In other news,... well if you don't know my other news right now, there's no benefit to telling the world at large.

Such a Skin Flint, He Shames the World's Cheapest Stereotype Enforcing Semites

2007-03-16T11:40:00.001-04:00

The Great Milk War is upon us.

I can't even begin to discuss how ridiculous the first three hours of my day have been. The non-dramatic bit being the filming of a lesbian domestic summer exterior scene in freezing rain. And I thought actors were tempermental...

And I am in non-bulimic circumstances that have sent me flying toward a size 4. Actually, if I don't find a solution soon, I'll be flying toward a size-Auschwitz. Two Jewish jokes in one post, and I don't have any beef with them. Not like those kanackis. Not to be confused with Kownackis, whom are lovely, and generous with their time and film equipment.

And I may need a musical director in the near future, as my musical ability is limited to the kazoo. Well, other instruments also, such as the tambourine, triangle, juice harp, and brown jug. I use them while instructing Kodaly.

I realized no one will think that's funny.

Here's a bit of psychological/philosophical musing. What causes a person to find it necessary to possess everything they touch? Things, people, places. To control whatever they come into contact with, but without having a plan or a goal? Is this the behaviour of an ignorant mind that cannot comprehend the logic of the world around them, and how one must function within it? One who cannot comprehend science and justice, but instead try to paralize everything that one sees? People like this are far too common, look and I'm afraid you'll find one to a greater or lesser degree. Or maybe growing up with it, I just make myself more susceptible to being surrounded by these people. But I'm done with it.

(Side note: I just realized that to use the proper grammatic construction of the pronoun "one", while being common in French, sounds rather ridiculous in English, that's why you got a "them".)

And on a cheerier note,... well, we'll find one. :)

Not Edited Gay....Just Gay

2007-03-16T03:16:00.000-04:00

Every time I'm on screen with LondonLois, we're lesbians. Here's a link to me being a silent lesbian, and her being a very cold, hand fidgety for the sake of friction based warmth sort of lesbian.

It's about 6 seconds long. Really. Pittsburgh in March sure doesn't look like So Cal in August.
See? I knew I'd find something good today. That and Sushi offered us hosting. Yey. Free stuff.
Other than that, I've wasted two calling cards trying to find anyone on the planet, but only getting their voicemail automatically. Today is very trying. I'm looking for somewhere to go, and I'm worried about my grandma. And my body.

I have an Eating Disorder Disorder.

2007-03-15T11:38:00.000-04:00

I spent my entire day studying a Microsoft Office Suite manual and making a PowerPoint presentation. I'm not kidding. Oh, and I ate a candy bar, which was righteous. A righteous candybar called Jesus Crisp.

I'm filming a scene from the L Word tonight. I'm not really sure how some things come about, but everytime I'm on camera with LondonLois, we're lovers. Or at least that's what the audience gets from it. Did you know you can be edited gay?

And it's official, I think that I have been biologically engineered from a line of "women of ill repute". And now, this isn't the healthiest thing I've ever done, but a few days ago I ate way too much, and while flopping about in pain, I recalled a conversation I had with a friend in high school.

ME: You look really good. Did you go on a diet?

HER: No, I found a new weightloss technique.

ME: What is it?

HER: I make myself throw up by sticking my finger down my throat.

ME: Neat.

Long story short, curiosity got the better of me and I tried it. And failed. I have no gag reflex. I just ended up with my finger stuck down my esophagus and a scratch from my fingernail. I failed at bulimia. I feel like a dirty fat ho'. By the way, don't try this yourselves, kids, there's no substitute for a good body image, and if you don't gag either, you'll feel chubby and whory, and nobody wants that.

And on a healthier note... Actually, I don't think I did anything healthy today. I'm sure that masturbation is good for your heart, but I've got nothing else.

I've been talking to Lennon too much lately. I sound like a dirty old man.