My title isn't a haiku is it?
"I feel anyone who does anything great
in art and culture is out of control.
It is done by people who are possessed.
Anyone who is gong to practice on the piano
22 hours a day is crazy.
He or she has to be crazy
and it is an embarrassment
to deal with crazy people.
-Nancy Grossman
I found this quote yesterday about crazy folk. I was trying to calm my nerves after an episode at the Wal-Mart one hour photo center. I typed all this mess out and ended up shaving it down to me being over anxious about somebody elses blunder. How just by telling the truth they could have prevented me from a sea of heartache and left me with a permanent case of the "Judy FACE." Apparently putting chilli on that will remedy it. Just ask the lady at Wendy's when she literally threw my bag at me and got hot chilli on my face, my car door, and my coat. Then she asked, "do you need anything replaced?"
(Only my dignity and last shred of patience, foul wench!)
What do you guys think about crazy people?
December 22, 2004
December 21, 2004
9021-no!
So I’d taken a sabbatical from the blog for about a week. After reading CA’s epic novella of what will become the anti-“Beaches”. (The One with the Bad Friend) Barbra Hershey and Bette Midler this rag tag group is NOT. Hell, we are not even a good 90210 class. You can’t have a cast of all Shannon Dohertys. My mind was awhirl with various words of wisdom; some of spite, some of crazy evil. Words so crazy, in fact that I began my own novella: which consumed me through most of Monday and Tuesday. With my thoughts being so errant as they often are, my novella composed itself in awkward places: during a power point presentation, a trip to the gym, and during inappropriate times at work. Therefore, it was never properly laid pen to paper or what not.
An OBF visited me in my dreams last night. She told me I needed to call my brother as soon as I woke up. Rather than the contents of the message I seemed overly pre-occupied with the messenger. I sorta knew why it was her, but not really sure why my mind conjured her up to give me important warnings for the day ahead of me. I did heed her warnings and I called my brother to say good-bye. However, I can’t say the whole thing didn’t leave me with a slight chill.
This particular dream sequence guest had been an extreme source of angst for a period of time for CA. She had been the “tha original bad friend” or as CA would have said a thousand years ago, the source of all that is evil and unholy. I tried to abbreviate to “the OBF” but Tiesha said way to many other inferences could come from those initials.
Bad friend, if you really think about the word, it’s sort of an oxymoron. I mean, they can’t really be your friend if they are bad. I do not necessarily think not returning phone calls makes you a bad friend. Even sending mass emails rather than taking time to compose a thoughtful note doesn’t make you a bad friend. If so I’d be willing to bet there are a lot of bad friends out there. I don’t think it makes you a bad friend, just a neglectful one.
I’ve only had one OBF in my entire life. A bad friend (by my definition) is someone who willingly and mischievously sets out to injure you in someway, using some personal tidbit of information that you’ve shared with them out of trust. They take this tidbit and reveal it a key moment when it will do a colossal amount of damage. I think CA uses the term “nugget.” A bad friend listens, but doesn’t really care. I think a bad friend doesn’t evolve with you. They maybe only willing to accept the person they first came to like, without really being able to grasp who you may become.
My OBF laid waste to my self-esteem in ’92, by a very public refusal to share a seat on a school bus. This sounds silly, but I considered this person to be my FRIEND. It’s been a long ass time, but when this OBF talks to me now (which believe it or not, sometimes OBF’s attempt this) my blood boils. Maybe this is a sign I’m not mature enough to move past, but you know what, this bitch hurt my feelings! It brings me an odd sorta glee to see her handing out cheese clumps at Wal-mart and even more evil glee to walk over and get one from her.
I try not to think about OBF’s that often, whether my own or someone elses. As for friend neglect, it is punishable offense, but can be cleared with community service and the occasional “zany” phone call.
There ARE more important things to worry about like:
I told Tiesha last week that the end of the world was nigh. The first harbinger of the apocalypse had arrived in Norfolk last Wednesday. No, not the war in Iraq or a rash of random domestic violence; when I talk about the end of the world coming, I will say it started with a tomato.
Food Lion was the first to see the crisis, followed by Wendy’s, Wal-mart, and the Farmer’s Market in Covington (or so this is the order in which I discovered the impending doom). A sign in the produce section decreed “Due to a drought from our primary growers, tomatoes this year are in short supply leaving us with high demand. Bare with us as our prices rise (or something to that effect).” On my second trip to Wendy’s the other day, there was no tomato on my sandwich, the cashier then informed me, “Mam, you must ask for tomatoes now, please pull ahead.” A similar case ensued at Wal-Mart, then reality set in at home when the always ample Farmer’s Market selection looked barren.
Larry left for the Air Force. Mom’s talked to him twice since last week. He sounds really happy from what she said. He’s safe until August anyway. Nicole B. gave me the best advice I’ve heard on the whole debacle, saying that maybe by then there would be some closure to this mess. I don’t believe it, but all the same-it made me feel better. Justifying and explaining my political feelings is a blog in itself and this one may just be long enough. Things are different for me now that it’s MY little brother jeopardizing his life.
Last week, I believe reality T.V. got its first taste of domestic violence. I didn’t see it, but it was enough to cause yelling and shouting across the board from a few of my co-workers and a couple of my friends. You guys watch the “Amazing Race” right? I stopped watching last season after Mirna and Charla got cut. I’ve switched my focus to “America’s Next Top Model” it really is funny how girls discover the true hardships of being a model. Hell, I’d stick a tarantula to my head for a quatzillion dollars. What are those girls complaining about?
.....more to come...
An OBF visited me in my dreams last night. She told me I needed to call my brother as soon as I woke up. Rather than the contents of the message I seemed overly pre-occupied with the messenger. I sorta knew why it was her, but not really sure why my mind conjured her up to give me important warnings for the day ahead of me. I did heed her warnings and I called my brother to say good-bye. However, I can’t say the whole thing didn’t leave me with a slight chill.
This particular dream sequence guest had been an extreme source of angst for a period of time for CA. She had been the “tha original bad friend” or as CA would have said a thousand years ago, the source of all that is evil and unholy. I tried to abbreviate to “the OBF” but Tiesha said way to many other inferences could come from those initials.
Bad friend, if you really think about the word, it’s sort of an oxymoron. I mean, they can’t really be your friend if they are bad. I do not necessarily think not returning phone calls makes you a bad friend. Even sending mass emails rather than taking time to compose a thoughtful note doesn’t make you a bad friend. If so I’d be willing to bet there are a lot of bad friends out there. I don’t think it makes you a bad friend, just a neglectful one.
I’ve only had one OBF in my entire life. A bad friend (by my definition) is someone who willingly and mischievously sets out to injure you in someway, using some personal tidbit of information that you’ve shared with them out of trust. They take this tidbit and reveal it a key moment when it will do a colossal amount of damage. I think CA uses the term “nugget.” A bad friend listens, but doesn’t really care. I think a bad friend doesn’t evolve with you. They maybe only willing to accept the person they first came to like, without really being able to grasp who you may become.
My OBF laid waste to my self-esteem in ’92, by a very public refusal to share a seat on a school bus. This sounds silly, but I considered this person to be my FRIEND. It’s been a long ass time, but when this OBF talks to me now (which believe it or not, sometimes OBF’s attempt this) my blood boils. Maybe this is a sign I’m not mature enough to move past, but you know what, this bitch hurt my feelings! It brings me an odd sorta glee to see her handing out cheese clumps at Wal-mart and even more evil glee to walk over and get one from her.
I try not to think about OBF’s that often, whether my own or someone elses. As for friend neglect, it is punishable offense, but can be cleared with community service and the occasional “zany” phone call.
There ARE more important things to worry about like:
I told Tiesha last week that the end of the world was nigh. The first harbinger of the apocalypse had arrived in Norfolk last Wednesday. No, not the war in Iraq or a rash of random domestic violence; when I talk about the end of the world coming, I will say it started with a tomato.
Food Lion was the first to see the crisis, followed by Wendy’s, Wal-mart, and the Farmer’s Market in Covington (or so this is the order in which I discovered the impending doom). A sign in the produce section decreed “Due to a drought from our primary growers, tomatoes this year are in short supply leaving us with high demand. Bare with us as our prices rise (or something to that effect).” On my second trip to Wendy’s the other day, there was no tomato on my sandwich, the cashier then informed me, “Mam, you must ask for tomatoes now, please pull ahead.” A similar case ensued at Wal-Mart, then reality set in at home when the always ample Farmer’s Market selection looked barren.
Larry left for the Air Force. Mom’s talked to him twice since last week. He sounds really happy from what she said. He’s safe until August anyway. Nicole B. gave me the best advice I’ve heard on the whole debacle, saying that maybe by then there would be some closure to this mess. I don’t believe it, but all the same-it made me feel better. Justifying and explaining my political feelings is a blog in itself and this one may just be long enough. Things are different for me now that it’s MY little brother jeopardizing his life.
Last week, I believe reality T.V. got its first taste of domestic violence. I didn’t see it, but it was enough to cause yelling and shouting across the board from a few of my co-workers and a couple of my friends. You guys watch the “Amazing Race” right? I stopped watching last season after Mirna and Charla got cut. I’ve switched my focus to “America’s Next Top Model” it really is funny how girls discover the true hardships of being a model. Hell, I’d stick a tarantula to my head for a quatzillion dollars. What are those girls complaining about?
.....more to come...
More stuff...
I’m sorry about your fish.
Valentine, a magenta purple beta fish I’d had through the entirety of college, survived a similar fish versus floor episode, only to become paralyzed on one side. One day my mom grew tired of watching the poor fellow and cast him into the swirly deep blue ocean where several other..ahem…things are laid to rest. CA didn’t you actually fish sit for me at one point? Don’t I recall you feeding him carrot tacos and playing popular television themes so he could sleep at night?
Here’s my random stuff:
I really hate the word nurture. I don’t thing I’m capable of it, perhaps that’s where the dilemma lies. I can care for something, but nurture just sounds icky. I really like the word “zany” just because I haven’t met someone I would give that classification to and it’s hard to use in a sentence. I also like the word “somatoform.” Now this means someone who is lacking in personality who takes on traits of the people around them. This is the first psychology thing that my room-mate, Lakeisha (her alter-ego) taught me as well as M.O. meaning Mode of Operation. My M.O. is making you think this paragraph is going one way, but it’s really going someplace else.
I’m from the teen pregnancy capital of the state of Virginia (circa ’96); nothing suprises me. With that being said, I’d like to visit Montana or Arizona before I get old. Simply because my mom says they are both beautiful states. After my experience in customs, I’m rather reluctant to leave the continental U.S. heh? While traveling the U.S. I recommend “The Cheese Monkeys” by Chip Kidd. It’s pretty much what being a college art student is about. I recommend any Harry Potter book for the misanthrope 12 year old in all of us. Sigh..once a dork..always a dork!
Pencil sharpeners make me think of Art class (both High School and College). My friend Mac would draw a comic strip called “The Naked Chic” featuring this busty naked lady, doing the most mundane things without clothes: grocery shopping, skiing, playing basketball. Everyday after class when everybody would leave-I would draw clothes on her. The next day he would be left to decipher how she went from nude to wearing a 3 piece business suit. Hey, I figured she would get cold.
I can’t think of a movie better than the book. I would say Lord of the Rings but am afraid I will be beat up by wild Tolkien enthusiasts in the street. I couldn’t get through the first chapter after page after page of talk of Hobbit feet.
I’ve been listening to a lot of No Doubt/Gwen Stefani lately, I guess if I had to choose one particular song to sum things up it would be “Simple Kind of Life”. Where she says all those “simple” things are simply too complicated for her life. Sorry guys, Jimmy Eat World is as Emo as I get.
Valentine, a magenta purple beta fish I’d had through the entirety of college, survived a similar fish versus floor episode, only to become paralyzed on one side. One day my mom grew tired of watching the poor fellow and cast him into the swirly deep blue ocean where several other..ahem…things are laid to rest. CA didn’t you actually fish sit for me at one point? Don’t I recall you feeding him carrot tacos and playing popular television themes so he could sleep at night?
Here’s my random stuff:
I really hate the word nurture. I don’t thing I’m capable of it, perhaps that’s where the dilemma lies. I can care for something, but nurture just sounds icky. I really like the word “zany” just because I haven’t met someone I would give that classification to and it’s hard to use in a sentence. I also like the word “somatoform.” Now this means someone who is lacking in personality who takes on traits of the people around them. This is the first psychology thing that my room-mate, Lakeisha (her alter-ego) taught me as well as M.O. meaning Mode of Operation. My M.O. is making you think this paragraph is going one way, but it’s really going someplace else.
I’m from the teen pregnancy capital of the state of Virginia (circa ’96); nothing suprises me. With that being said, I’d like to visit Montana or Arizona before I get old. Simply because my mom says they are both beautiful states. After my experience in customs, I’m rather reluctant to leave the continental U.S. heh? While traveling the U.S. I recommend “The Cheese Monkeys” by Chip Kidd. It’s pretty much what being a college art student is about. I recommend any Harry Potter book for the misanthrope 12 year old in all of us. Sigh..once a dork..always a dork!
Pencil sharpeners make me think of Art class (both High School and College). My friend Mac would draw a comic strip called “The Naked Chic” featuring this busty naked lady, doing the most mundane things without clothes: grocery shopping, skiing, playing basketball. Everyday after class when everybody would leave-I would draw clothes on her. The next day he would be left to decipher how she went from nude to wearing a 3 piece business suit. Hey, I figured she would get cold.
I can’t think of a movie better than the book. I would say Lord of the Rings but am afraid I will be beat up by wild Tolkien enthusiasts in the street. I couldn’t get through the first chapter after page after page of talk of Hobbit feet.
I’ve been listening to a lot of No Doubt/Gwen Stefani lately, I guess if I had to choose one particular song to sum things up it would be “Simple Kind of Life”. Where she says all those “simple” things are simply too complicated for her life. Sorry guys, Jimmy Eat World is as Emo as I get.
December 16, 2004
Cowbell can’t help me now…Answers to your MS questions
I’ve been meaning to write about my recent medical adventures, just to have something to act as a sort of primer for when people wonder why I might walk into the corner of a wall or they get a bonus clump of my hair in their holiday greeting card. Everyone has a different level of info, and since this blog is for me and my electronic friends, I had them submit questions.
Leslie P. from Norfolk writes:
“I read up about MS. So here are my questions:
Which type do you have? What does it do? I mean get the twitching and stuff,but are you in pain? Are you spending a lot of time in the hospital? AndWhat exactly did you do to your leg? How often do you flare up?That's it..I'm too mature for these silly questions. Back to work wench.”
Thanks for the questions, Leslie. I have relapsing-remitting multiple sclerosis. Here’s textbooky definition of it:
Relapsing/Remitting MS - A clinical phase having distinct relapses (also called acute attacks or exacerbations), with either full recovery (no disability), or partial recovery and lasting disability. There is no visible disease progression (worsening) between attacks; but *stable* periods, span and mask, the continuing subclinical disease process.- Relapsing forms of MS are the most common beginning types, comprising 85% of the total. However, 50% of cases will have progression within 10 - 15 years, and an additional 40% within 25 years of onset; as the disease evolves, into the Secondary/Progressive phase.
My personal grab-bag of symptoms are the uncontrollable twitching, tiredness, dizziness, and occasional nerve pain. Other crap happens when I have a flare up, Like one eye going all wonky (and hurting like a bastard), and severe nerve pain where it feels like I’m having the worst toothache you’ve ever had all up and down my arms & legs. I’m not really sure if my symptoms will change over time, I’m pretty new to this business.
I spent an ass-load of time in the hospital this past spring/summer. The first time they were just trying to figure out what was wrong with me, as neurological issues were mounting…they took a CT scan and concluded that I had had 2 strokes. At 24. And yes, while I am a fattyboombalatty, I’m in pretty good health. So they gave me some baby aspirins and sent me home. Over the course of the following 36 hours, my condition (or rather, multiple sclerosis attack) had progressed to the point that I couldn’t hold a butter knife to make a peanut butter sandwich (my hands weren’t really working), and ultimately I fell and broke my leg while very casually walking through my sister’s bedroom. Smooth. This brought on hospital visit #2, as there was obviously something seriously wrong. The next morning I had an MRI that showed that it was MS, and they started me on IV Steroids, which I guess put some kind of chokehold on my MS symptoms, because I started to improve right away. The next day I had surgery to put in my custom-made 8 inch titanium plate & screws to hold my ankle together. After that, I just had to wait out the rest of my steroid treatments (it was a five day course) and I went home. Three of my other hospital visits over the summer were due to optic neuritis, which is where my eye goes all wonky and I have to go get some more IV steroids to fix it, three days apiece. Towards the end of July I had those really bad pains in my arms and legs and they weren’t going away like they normally did. So my neurologist put me on an anti-seizure medication to get it under control. That worked fine, until I got enough of it in my system for my body to be like “Fuck THIS shit.” And I had an allergic reaction. I had a 104 fever and a really bitchin rash all over my body. It took them five days to make sure it wasn’t precisely the thing I predicted it was, testing me for every affliction underthe sun and some on mars.
I’m not sure how often I’ll flare up because I’m still pretty new to the MS game. I know that if I get too hot, tired, or stressed out I’m asking for trouble, so be warned. If I come to your house always keep the AC cranked, lots of fluffy surfaces around for me to nap on, and don’t act like a crazy whacked-out douche. It’s simple, really.
And Stephanie B. from Falls Church, VA writes:
What happend to make you fall and break your leg?2. Did it hurt or were you in shock?3. How come you were going to the hospital a lot this summer buthaven't been recently (I hope I haven't jinxed you!).4. How often do you give yourself injections?
Thanks for numbering your questions, Stephanie. I’ll answer in due kind.
1. I fell and broke my leg because of a rapidly progressing MS attack. My arms and legs were acting all crazy. I’d touch something that was a little on the cool side and my arm would fly back towards my body like a magnet. When I fell and broke my leg, my legs just didn’t do what I thought my brain told them to do, which was walk over to the desk chair in my sisters room and sit down. I just sort of went straight down. I heard four really loud pops, and my mom screaming from the other room (she heard the pops too).
2. It didn’t really hurt at first. I just kept telling my sister that it wasn’t broken, and she pointed out that my foot was facing the wrong direction. Even in the ambulance on the way to the hospital I was telling the EMT that it was just sprained. Silly me.
3. I think I was in the hospital so much this summer and not much lately (thankfully) because we’re starting to work out the kinks. My medicine is really starting to kick in (which explains the hair loss) and do its job. I’m actually feeling pretty great lately. I’m all inspired to write and talk endlessly. I’m pretty annoying, actually.
4. I shoot myself up three times a week.
Did I miss anything? Thanks for your help!
Leslie P. from Norfolk writes:
“I read up about MS. So here are my questions:
Which type do you have? What does it do? I mean get the twitching and stuff,but are you in pain? Are you spending a lot of time in the hospital? AndWhat exactly did you do to your leg? How often do you flare up?That's it..I'm too mature for these silly questions. Back to work wench.”
Thanks for the questions, Leslie. I have relapsing-remitting multiple sclerosis. Here’s textbooky definition of it:
Relapsing/Remitting MS - A clinical phase having distinct relapses (also called acute attacks or exacerbations), with either full recovery (no disability), or partial recovery and lasting disability. There is no visible disease progression (worsening) between attacks; but *stable* periods, span and mask, the continuing subclinical disease process.- Relapsing forms of MS are the most common beginning types, comprising 85% of the total. However, 50% of cases will have progression within 10 - 15 years, and an additional 40% within 25 years of onset; as the disease evolves, into the Secondary/Progressive phase.
My personal grab-bag of symptoms are the uncontrollable twitching, tiredness, dizziness, and occasional nerve pain. Other crap happens when I have a flare up, Like one eye going all wonky (and hurting like a bastard), and severe nerve pain where it feels like I’m having the worst toothache you’ve ever had all up and down my arms & legs. I’m not really sure if my symptoms will change over time, I’m pretty new to this business.
I spent an ass-load of time in the hospital this past spring/summer. The first time they were just trying to figure out what was wrong with me, as neurological issues were mounting…they took a CT scan and concluded that I had had 2 strokes. At 24. And yes, while I am a fattyboombalatty, I’m in pretty good health. So they gave me some baby aspirins and sent me home. Over the course of the following 36 hours, my condition (or rather, multiple sclerosis attack) had progressed to the point that I couldn’t hold a butter knife to make a peanut butter sandwich (my hands weren’t really working), and ultimately I fell and broke my leg while very casually walking through my sister’s bedroom. Smooth. This brought on hospital visit #2, as there was obviously something seriously wrong. The next morning I had an MRI that showed that it was MS, and they started me on IV Steroids, which I guess put some kind of chokehold on my MS symptoms, because I started to improve right away. The next day I had surgery to put in my custom-made 8 inch titanium plate & screws to hold my ankle together. After that, I just had to wait out the rest of my steroid treatments (it was a five day course) and I went home. Three of my other hospital visits over the summer were due to optic neuritis, which is where my eye goes all wonky and I have to go get some more IV steroids to fix it, three days apiece. Towards the end of July I had those really bad pains in my arms and legs and they weren’t going away like they normally did. So my neurologist put me on an anti-seizure medication to get it under control. That worked fine, until I got enough of it in my system for my body to be like “Fuck THIS shit.” And I had an allergic reaction. I had a 104 fever and a really bitchin rash all over my body. It took them five days to make sure it wasn’t precisely the thing I predicted it was, testing me for every affliction underthe sun and some on mars.
I’m not sure how often I’ll flare up because I’m still pretty new to the MS game. I know that if I get too hot, tired, or stressed out I’m asking for trouble, so be warned. If I come to your house always keep the AC cranked, lots of fluffy surfaces around for me to nap on, and don’t act like a crazy whacked-out douche. It’s simple, really.
And Stephanie B. from Falls Church, VA writes:
What happend to make you fall and break your leg?2. Did it hurt or were you in shock?3. How come you were going to the hospital a lot this summer buthaven't been recently (I hope I haven't jinxed you!).4. How often do you give yourself injections?
Thanks for numbering your questions, Stephanie. I’ll answer in due kind.
1. I fell and broke my leg because of a rapidly progressing MS attack. My arms and legs were acting all crazy. I’d touch something that was a little on the cool side and my arm would fly back towards my body like a magnet. When I fell and broke my leg, my legs just didn’t do what I thought my brain told them to do, which was walk over to the desk chair in my sisters room and sit down. I just sort of went straight down. I heard four really loud pops, and my mom screaming from the other room (she heard the pops too).
2. It didn’t really hurt at first. I just kept telling my sister that it wasn’t broken, and she pointed out that my foot was facing the wrong direction. Even in the ambulance on the way to the hospital I was telling the EMT that it was just sprained. Silly me.
3. I think I was in the hospital so much this summer and not much lately (thankfully) because we’re starting to work out the kinks. My medicine is really starting to kick in (which explains the hair loss) and do its job. I’m actually feeling pretty great lately. I’m all inspired to write and talk endlessly. I’m pretty annoying, actually.
4. I shoot myself up three times a week.
Did I miss anything? Thanks for your help!
Mealin on my Stuff (tee hee)
1.Word(s) that you really really hate:
The C& P words referring to female anatomy, The “N” Word
2. One place you would like to visit before you are too old to travel:
Strongbadia
3. One thing you believed in college that no longer holds true:
That a college degree would garner me respect in the working world?
4. One sound that will always make you smile sadly yet fondly:
I’m with the Hench on this one. The skateboard sound is a nice one. Especially all the middle-schoolers that congregate in my cul-de-sac and make really scary attempts at the simplest of ollies. I just want to yell “push down, then up!” from my business-casual attire, but they’d just laugh at me.
5. Word(s) that you really love:
Discombobulated, Rufus, Mer (of course)
6. One book that you would recommend to anyone, anywhere:
The Things They Carried, by Tim O’brien
7. One movie that was actually better than the book:
I haven’t come across one yet, but they’re making “A Confederacy of Dunces” with Wil Ferrell as Ignatius so I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
8. One person who has shocked you by having a child out of wedlock:
Well, I can’t say I’m shocked about that one, if it is indeed out of wedlock, cause we all knew she was a flaky whore to begin with…but uh…actually I can’t even think of one. All of my friends are morally pristine and minty fresh.
9. One person you think lives in a bad neighborhood so they can feel superior:
Kristen Visalli.
10. Song quote that expresses your feelings on current events or life in general:
It's a dead heat between
"Happiness is such hard work, and it gets harder every day And it can kill you, but no one wants to be that tacky about it, yea If you spin fast enough than maybe the broken pieces of your heart will stay together But some things I've seen lately make me doubt it. " from "Gyroscope" by the now-defuct Dismemberment Plan
and
“You’ll be accepting my apology, for taking things too seriously. Sometimes I’m old enough to keep routine, sometimes I’m child enough to scream.”—from those arbiters of sap, the Get Up Kids
The C& P words referring to female anatomy, The “N” Word
2. One place you would like to visit before you are too old to travel:
Strongbadia
3. One thing you believed in college that no longer holds true:
That a college degree would garner me respect in the working world?
4. One sound that will always make you smile sadly yet fondly:
I’m with the Hench on this one. The skateboard sound is a nice one. Especially all the middle-schoolers that congregate in my cul-de-sac and make really scary attempts at the simplest of ollies. I just want to yell “push down, then up!” from my business-casual attire, but they’d just laugh at me.
5. Word(s) that you really love:
Discombobulated, Rufus, Mer (of course)
6. One book that you would recommend to anyone, anywhere:
The Things They Carried, by Tim O’brien
7. One movie that was actually better than the book:
I haven’t come across one yet, but they’re making “A Confederacy of Dunces” with Wil Ferrell as Ignatius so I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
8. One person who has shocked you by having a child out of wedlock:
Well, I can’t say I’m shocked about that one, if it is indeed out of wedlock, cause we all knew she was a flaky whore to begin with…but uh…actually I can’t even think of one. All of my friends are morally pristine and minty fresh.
9. One person you think lives in a bad neighborhood so they can feel superior:
Kristen Visalli.
10. Song quote that expresses your feelings on current events or life in general:
It's a dead heat between
"Happiness is such hard work, and it gets harder every day And it can kill you, but no one wants to be that tacky about it, yea If you spin fast enough than maybe the broken pieces of your heart will stay together But some things I've seen lately make me doubt it. " from "Gyroscope" by the now-defuct Dismemberment Plan
and
“You’ll be accepting my apology, for taking things too seriously. Sometimes I’m old enough to keep routine, sometimes I’m child enough to scream.”—from those arbiters of sap, the Get Up Kids
December 15, 2004
Stuff
Don't feel you have to fill this out, but if you want to post but are feeling creatively drained, it could be fun!
1. Word(s) that you really really hate:
"Dollop." "Moist" is a very close second.
2. One place you would like to visit before you are too old to travel:
The Tower of London
3. One thing you believed in college that no longer holds true:
As long as you work hard, you will succeed in what you do.
4. One sound that will always make you smile sadly yet fondly:
The sound of a skateboard
5. Word(s) that you really love:
Lemon
6. One book that you would recommend to anyone, anywhere:
A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving
7. One movie that was actually better than the book:
The Last of the Mohicans
8. One person who has shocked you by having a child out of wedlock:
A friend from high school, Natasha Embry
9. One person you think lives in a bad neighborhood so they can feel superior:
Answer upon request
10. Song quote that expresses your feelings on current events or life in general:
"Made up rules to follow for good; no wonder we're fucked up, some of us did."
1. Word(s) that you really really hate:
"Dollop." "Moist" is a very close second.
2. One place you would like to visit before you are too old to travel:
The Tower of London
3. One thing you believed in college that no longer holds true:
As long as you work hard, you will succeed in what you do.
4. One sound that will always make you smile sadly yet fondly:
The sound of a skateboard
5. Word(s) that you really love:
Lemon
6. One book that you would recommend to anyone, anywhere:
A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving
7. One movie that was actually better than the book:
The Last of the Mohicans
8. One person who has shocked you by having a child out of wedlock:
A friend from high school, Natasha Embry
9. One person you think lives in a bad neighborhood so they can feel superior:
Answer upon request
10. Song quote that expresses your feelings on current events or life in general:
"Made up rules to follow for good; no wonder we're fucked up, some of us did."
December 8, 2004
Ode to Olaf
I dropped my fish. It happened on Sunday while we were cleaning out the fish tank. I was trying to put him in a bowl and he was flopping around and fell on the floor. We don't have carpet. I scooped him up and put him in the bowl so he wouldn't suffocate, but honestly, it probably would have been better if he had. Because when I got him into the bowl, he had little bruises on his poor head and also internal bleeding. A big red circle on his head. I looked at him and I felt like I had physically beaten him up. On purpose. I felt awful. Did I mention he is albino? That is how I could tell he had internal bleeding. He seemed a little dazed but wasn't really showing any adverse reactions. We hurriedly cleaned the tank so that we could get him back in his home and proceeded to check on him a hundred times that night. He would occasionally swim around as if he were berserk, as was his habit (hence the name Olaf) and then settle back down in a corner.
Monday morning when I fed our other fish, Gina, I checked on him. Still alive but now his left eye was totally red like it was filled with blood. Monday evening when I came home from work I checked on him again and he was still holding his own, hanging out in his corner. I made him a cheerful sign telling him to get better soon and hung it over the fish tank. I joined an MSN group called "Fish Help" but did not recieve any helpful advice from fellow fish droppers. Super.
Tuesday morning, he looked the same, maybe a little wobbly. I started getting concerned that he wasn't eating. He eats the algae on the floor of the tank, running around like a little vacuum cleaner, but since he wasn't vacuuming I didn't think he was getting any nutrition. So I dropped this huge tablet that is supposed to be tasty to nocturnal vacuum cleaners and turned off the light, but he didn't even look at it. I guess because he was maybe blind in that eye. I checked on him after work and he admitedly looked a little worse. Still, when we came home from Baxter's parents house last night I was shocked to find him laying on his side with labored breathing. Every once in a while we would swim around all crazily, swiriling around upside down and then landing on his side. I watched him struggle to breathe and prepared myself for his passing. I checked on him again, and he wasn't breathing. I didn't want to flush him but was scared to leave him in the tank with Gina until I could bury him. She is a big eater and so I feared she would start in on him.
Telling myself that burial is more for the benefit of the living than for the dead, I scooped him up with the net and put him in a little tupperware container. It occured to me that if we had used the tupperware container instead of the little bowl I might not have dropped Olaf. I put the thought out of my head immediately, but then Baxter said it out loud. Fantastic. We flushed him down the toilet to the sounds of "With or without you" by U2. Totally accidental and very upsetting.
I think the hardest part is that he was such a cool fish. He just liked to swim around, minding his own business, cleaning up the tank. He put up a good fight for those two days, a real good fight. Now I think he was right to put up such a fight on Sunday when I was chasing him around the tank with the net. Maybe he knew something that we didn't.
I don't know if I would have felt that bad if it had been Gina that I dropped. She is sort of an evil bitch and will probably outlive my children. We have started withdrawing from her, telling her that we hate her as we walk by the tank. I think that is wrong, but perhaps we are just dealing with our grief in our own way and will warm up to her soon. I think she may be in mourning too, so I am trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. We'll see.
Rest In Peace
OLAF
Monday morning when I fed our other fish, Gina, I checked on him. Still alive but now his left eye was totally red like it was filled with blood. Monday evening when I came home from work I checked on him again and he was still holding his own, hanging out in his corner. I made him a cheerful sign telling him to get better soon and hung it over the fish tank. I joined an MSN group called "Fish Help" but did not recieve any helpful advice from fellow fish droppers. Super.
Tuesday morning, he looked the same, maybe a little wobbly. I started getting concerned that he wasn't eating. He eats the algae on the floor of the tank, running around like a little vacuum cleaner, but since he wasn't vacuuming I didn't think he was getting any nutrition. So I dropped this huge tablet that is supposed to be tasty to nocturnal vacuum cleaners and turned off the light, but he didn't even look at it. I guess because he was maybe blind in that eye. I checked on him after work and he admitedly looked a little worse. Still, when we came home from Baxter's parents house last night I was shocked to find him laying on his side with labored breathing. Every once in a while we would swim around all crazily, swiriling around upside down and then landing on his side. I watched him struggle to breathe and prepared myself for his passing. I checked on him again, and he wasn't breathing. I didn't want to flush him but was scared to leave him in the tank with Gina until I could bury him. She is a big eater and so I feared she would start in on him.
Telling myself that burial is more for the benefit of the living than for the dead, I scooped him up with the net and put him in a little tupperware container. It occured to me that if we had used the tupperware container instead of the little bowl I might not have dropped Olaf. I put the thought out of my head immediately, but then Baxter said it out loud. Fantastic. We flushed him down the toilet to the sounds of "With or without you" by U2. Totally accidental and very upsetting.
I think the hardest part is that he was such a cool fish. He just liked to swim around, minding his own business, cleaning up the tank. He put up a good fight for those two days, a real good fight. Now I think he was right to put up such a fight on Sunday when I was chasing him around the tank with the net. Maybe he knew something that we didn't.
I don't know if I would have felt that bad if it had been Gina that I dropped. She is sort of an evil bitch and will probably outlive my children. We have started withdrawing from her, telling her that we hate her as we walk by the tank. I think that is wrong, but perhaps we are just dealing with our grief in our own way and will warm up to her soon. I think she may be in mourning too, so I am trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. We'll see.
Rest In Peace
OLAF
December 6, 2004
December 4, 2004
I'll be stone-faced and pale, you'll pout in stereo: Nonsensical rambling of epic proportions
I had to drive to the Hospital at the University of Pennsylvania yesterday for a few hours of lying in a big ole’ magnetic tube and trying not to move. I gleefully found that Ben Folds Five’s self-titled debut album provided me with almost door-to-door entertainment. Okay, maybe Wawa-to-door, but who’s counting? Me, obviously. I also maybe not-so-gleefully recalled some seriously sage words that Mr. Folds wrote a long time ago, that were basically a frying pan upside my annoyed head this week.
From “Video”:
“Well I’ve seen some old friends sort of die, or just turn into whatever must’ve been inside them…or whatever all of us then had in common grew up. They left home. They don’t think that way no more.”
Regardless of what set things with Nicki in motion---and no, I’m not going to be vague here; the timing of it all, or any of the details, the fact is that where things stand now was inevitable.
Since you’ve decreed for your queendom of internet subjects that you’ll not entertain my attempts to handle this matter privately, I’ve decided to delve into my stable of big words and fanciful prose to state my case.
I can only speak for myself with a clear conscience, which is why, my dear FOUR loyal readers (that’s Leslie, Hench, Sheiko, and myself), it’s my name down there at the bottom of this here textual manifestation of the hot air I blow. My liking to read myself type aside, yes (REDACTED!), this was a long time coming. I can understand how you might think this came out of left field, an unfortunate side-effect of your being quite a terrible friend, and I might go out on a short limb to say delusional as well.
The fact is, you never really were a great friend. Often maniacally wrapped up in your own personal, and more often than not self-inflicted, drama…you only had time for your “best friends” when you needed a void filled. More often than not that stemmed from the guy in your life doing something thoughtless, to which you’d swear off the entire gender for all times. Or at least until your hangover wore off and suddenly your “best friend” was telepathically expected to have forgiven “the bastard” and be fine with getting brushed aside once again.
This is not to say anyone who wants to have friends cannot be in a relationship. I have friends (ahem, Saint Hench of Woodside Lane, ahem) who were (gasp!) in a relationship when we became friends, but has come to be the best friend I’ve ever had, through college, through her marriage, and despite the fact that she lives five hours from me and we have spent mere hours together in the last three years. Not to overtly deify anyone or anything, but she’s a pretty goddamned perfect friend.
Never once has Hench expected anything other than honesty and maybe a few hot dogs along the way. We have had exactly one argument not related to music or hot men. I remember it exactly. We were driving (OK, she was driving) down Hampton Boulevard towards ODU, crossing over 38th street and passing Camp Zama record store. We had been talking about middle names, and I asserted that I did not have one. Hench firmly informed me that Ann WAS my middle name; point blank, period. (Big ups RWNY2 Nicole). I felt betrayed and murderous. I don’t remember how the argument ended, probably thrown off course by a sighting of some beautiful bomb boy, but it was over regardless by the time we hit BAL (I know you bitches know the geography) and Hench has quite a lead foot. Over the years, Hench has taken a lot of guff from me, and still gave me rides wherever I needed to go. She carried the enormous burden that is the asshole flag, which she surprisingly only waved a few times, and always knew the exact thing to say that would make me accept her ruling. Usually something along the lines of “You’re going to have to drop out of school and you may never lay eyes on (Mike Presta) again.” If you have no idea what I’m talking about, it’s probably better for you.
(I’d like to take a hot second to thank (REDACTED!) for this opportunity to be as obnoxiously verbose as I have been in years. It’s fucking fantastic and no, Hench, I’ve held no beers this evening. By the by, would “obnoxiously verbose” be considered an oxymoron? I wasn’t an English major, but I played one on TV.)
While I am extolling virtues, I’ma go ahead and put one Leslie Paxton on blast (me and my damn RW-begotten slang). My first memory of Leslie is from the night before Thanksgiving break in Rogers Hall at ODU. There were about 7 people in the dorm counting RA’s and custodial staff. Needless to say, Leslie and I bumped into each other. We bonded over Foo Fighters and Super Nintendo. Now, Leslie and I weren’t the tightest of bros. She had Tiesha, and Hench & I had very demanding people-watching schedules in the Webb. But we shared some belly-laughs from time to time, and admittedly my being friends with (REDACTED!) facilitated my being friends with Leslie. Further, I don’t really think it was until (REDACTED!) left ODU that Leslie and I grew any kind of close. We walked a lot in the residential neighborhood adjacent to Powhatan and tried our best not to look like poor college students desperate for a peek at a normal life in suburbia, a land where ramen noodles are a novelty rather than a necessity, and taco night is an afterthought rather than a feast deserving of actual plates. To speed this montage up, Leslie came to work with me at SAC, which ultimately put the choke hold on our friendship. We dealt with some big-time, knock-down, drag-out shit, and didn’t talk for like a hundred years. Or two. Yes, it was about two years. A year and a half? I don’t know from math.
Alas, Leslie and I began to bump into each other in oh-so-chic downtown Norfolk nightspots, and managed to build up a limited cordiality in the sterile environment that is Backstage Café. Too loud to string together any kind of sophisticated unpleasant conversation to further widen the rift, too loud not to only manage pleasantries and neutral commentary at best. Actually, I’m not really sure how we came to actually have a real conversation again. Forgive me if I have a massive legion on my brain that makes me have cognitive and memory issues from time to time (we’ll touch on that later)…but I believe it was the night of the Ludacris concert at ODU. I had some tickets and tried to get a hold of Leslie, knowing she’d enjoy the show. We never did get to meet up, but she called me as I was walking out of the convocation center, and we talked all the way on my drive back to Chesafreake. When I got home, I sat in my car talking on the phone for two hours. We didn’t talk about what caused us not to talk in the first place, but rather just about our lives at that moment. We traded horror stories about our wretched first jobs out of college, frustrations about being out of college, and just kind of gabbed. I missed Leslie’s accent, her tendency to not only impersonate people but write fictional dialogue for them that totally sums up them up better than actual dialogue of theirs could, and her frankness. I will try to don the cap of a good person and suggest that a guy someone describes as an all-around gem, good church-goin’ folk that helps old ladies across the street and loads their groceries into the car for them is actually a nice guy, and Leslie will explain him away as “a 30-year old virgin and you know it”. This is why I must have Leslie as a friend. She does not dilly-dally, and she keeps my brain on its toes (or cord?).
I have learned a thing or two about what a good friend is in the last 7 months. At the end of April, I broke my leg as a result of a mounting as-yet-undetected Multiple Sclerosis attack. I was diagnosed two days later, and my life changed forever. The details of my disease are for another manifesto. This one is about friendship. My true friends showed themselves in all different ways. The ones local to me were big on bringing gifts to the hospital or just coming to sit with me. Some were real troopers, fielding messages relaying yet another phone number to use for yet another hospital stay (there were six in all) and finding time in their busy schedules to take a minute out to call and say hello. It reminded me that there are normal people in the world, not just sick people, people who take care of sick people, and family members who wanted to tear their hair out in frustration over what was happening to me. It was a time when I didn’t want to go to sleep, because I didn’t want to wake up and find something else wrong with me.
The day I came home from the hospital after diagnosis, my friend Daina came to my house armed with a stack of packets full of information she’d gathered on MS. They were collated and bound, and there were enough for everyone in my family. I for one was grateful if only because I had no real grasp on exactly what this disease I had was, let alone the risk she took making all those copies on the company dime (kidding!). Daina called me every day, and even though she knew I had my sister graciously serving as my personal nurse and attending to my every need, she constantly called to say she was stopping at Target on her way home from work and did I need anything, or do I have to go anywhere and need her to take me?
Or take Dena and Gabriella. When I was released from the hospital for the third time, Dena and Gabriella both happened to be in town (from DC and Florida, respectively). I’ve kept in regular contact with Dena, but Gabriella not so much. We haven’t spoken in years, and in fact, had some bad blood over an ancient fight. When they could have been out whooping it up, and laying the mack down on their vacations, they became seasoned professionals at carting my crippled ass around our tiny island, loading me and the wheelchair into Dena’s Jeep at record speed and efficiency, and never once making me feel like a burden.
Throw in some awesomeness from the Hench (of course), Horns, various co-workers, and most of all my sister. She is most certainly going to get one of the cushiest clouds to sit on in heaven, if only for that one time, during my second visit to the hospital when I was on industrial-strength medications too numerous to name, coupled with a broken leg and confinement to a bed pan…I umm…made a mess and somehow had enough wits about me in my stupor to hide the evidence in a bedside drawer. She never took the opportunity to use this against me (at least not in front of me), and for that I have abstained from sneaking into her room when she’s not at home and farting on her bed to alleviate any ill-will I may build up towards her.
I bet you didn’t expect to read about poop and farts, now did you? That’s probably something you didn’t know about me. I’d be modest to say bodily functions account for at least 40% of my conversations. It might not help that I live with my sister, a critical care nurse, who deals almost exclusively in the bodily function, fluid, and dysfunction business; but who’s counting. If you think this is a slap in the face of sisterhood, you clearly don’t know my sister. She nasty.
Hey, how about I make a point regarding my original inspiration for this composition? Let’s talk about what a bad friend might do faced with a situation like mine.
A bad friend, like (REDACTED!), might happen to call you on your cell phone during your first hospital stay. They might be absolutely distraught over your condition. They may dutifully keep in touch throughout your initial ordeal. Just hearing their voice and knowing that they are thinking about you may comfort you more than the most optimistic outlook any doctor could give. They may offer to rush to your side, but you insist that is not necessary, that knowing they care is more than enough. The bad friend puts on a very moving show. And then they disappear. After a handful of more hospital stays, and some seriously scary shit, you come to find out that, no, your bad friend has not driven off the side of some mountain road, thereby explaining their mysterious vanishing act. Your bad friend met a guy. And even if this is the guy that your friend may spend the rest of her life with, you can’t help but be hurt. Your bad friend makes small attempts to reconnect. Your bad friend blames an odd work schedule for not having better contact. But you scratch your head at the notion that an odd work schedule would prohibit someone from maintaining a friendship they purport to be very important to them on the least demanding of levels: an occasional phone call, but this bad friend somehow found the time to not only establish a new relationship, but establish one so deep that they’re gonna bring God and some paper into the equation. You didn’t expect your bad friend to have dropped everything, rushed to your side, and hold your hand through the whole messy ordeal. She didn’t need to empty your commode or buy you a teddy bear urging you to “Hang in there, baby”. All she had to use all of her scruples; her extensive education, her deep sensitivity, her strong sense of self, and her abilities to really bang out those Jack Handey quotes; to do was pick up a mother-fathering phone and say, as a good friend (Leslie Paxton) said, “I don’t really know what to say, but I’m here.”
If sickness scares you, I understand. It’s not offensive to say that. What’s offensive is someone who’s your biggest cheerleader until some wayward quarterback saunters by and hocks a loogie in her general direction, thus indicating true love, and ceasing the need for your late-night drunken Instant Message support system.
I have taken a few wrong turns with this entry for sure. I’ve stopped in rest stops and read “Us Weekly” for the hell of it. But at least if you’ve read this far, I’m taking away a fraction of the time from you that trying to make sense of your special friendship tactics has cost me.
And like you, I’m not upset anymore. Like the little lady in Poltergeist say, “This house is clean”.
Revisiting an earlier point, yes, this implosion was a long time coming. The things I’ve mentioned here are only a few in a long line of warning signs that I really should have taken as my cue to bow out gracefully a long, long time ago. Maybe then we would have the opportunity to come together some time in the future and start fresh. I take responsibility for not speaking up in favor of not wanting to make waves for an already strained long-distance friendship as it was. And I take responsibility for not making a better effort to adapt to the reality that our friendship had changed from those heady days at ODU; drinking really terrible vodka, assaulting amphibians, and foolishly thinking life could be that simple forever.
You seem extremely concerned that your position be public, and if I do say so myself (with extreme self-awareness) that this lady doth protest too much. You tried to point a similar finger in my direction for inferring something from what you said in your blog about other people’s opinion of your wedding prattle. To which I call a sincere bullshit, as you cannot say that what was exchanged over e-mail (my sending you a link to this here blog and your subsequent reading) and what you posted on your blog (which you handily reminded me of the link to) are mutually exclusive. No way, no how.
And, speaking of blogs, if you really want to know my personal inspiration for creating Our Electronic Friendship…it was your penchant for electronic communication, and truly, I envisioned it as a new way that we could keep in touch. Do you know what Hench’s immediate response to reading it was? “I want in.” And access was granted. Yours? “I’m glad you two are so tight.” Which, despite what you say, is dripping with judgement and/or bitterness. While I had the stupid hope that you might be interested in participating as well, I didn’t even get the chance to extend the invite before the whole thing gained a taint.
But you know, everything happens for a reason. I’m bummed that you didn’t come on board, and in an unfortunate turn of events we’re not friends anymore. But I really love the electronic friendship that I have with Leslie, Hench, and even though I’ve never met her, our loyal reader Sheiko (what’s up girl! Leslie thinks your alright, and that’s alright with me.) . I’m embarrassingly giddy thinking about the possibilities down the road. And admittedly, my friendship with Hench didn’t really need a boost, but I’m glad to have the opportunity to nurture it in a whole new obnoxious way. But the real success story (I think) is that Leslie and I have found a way to do the same, that is, nurture our friendship in a whole new obnoxious way. I hope to do the same with others and for others someday.
And as I make a dent in my 8th page of text in Word, I know I’m way past the time to wrap this crap-fest up. I haven’t made much sense, but I have medications I can blame for that if I get in a jam. As for resolutions, there are none, as has already been stated by both parties.
I think breaking up with a friend is a million times more bewildering than breaking up with a boyfriend. There’s no property to divide, no real embarrassment or consequences when you accidentally call your next friend by their name, and unlike the convenient excuse of “he cheated on me” or “he kisses his mother on the mouth”, you’ll never really be able to wrap your head around it.
From “Video”:
“Well I’ve seen some old friends sort of die, or just turn into whatever must’ve been inside them…or whatever all of us then had in common grew up. They left home. They don’t think that way no more.”
Regardless of what set things with Nicki in motion---and no, I’m not going to be vague here; the timing of it all, or any of the details, the fact is that where things stand now was inevitable.
Since you’ve decreed for your queendom of internet subjects that you’ll not entertain my attempts to handle this matter privately, I’ve decided to delve into my stable of big words and fanciful prose to state my case.
I can only speak for myself with a clear conscience, which is why, my dear FOUR loyal readers (that’s Leslie, Hench, Sheiko, and myself), it’s my name down there at the bottom of this here textual manifestation of the hot air I blow. My liking to read myself type aside, yes (REDACTED!), this was a long time coming. I can understand how you might think this came out of left field, an unfortunate side-effect of your being quite a terrible friend, and I might go out on a short limb to say delusional as well.
The fact is, you never really were a great friend. Often maniacally wrapped up in your own personal, and more often than not self-inflicted, drama…you only had time for your “best friends” when you needed a void filled. More often than not that stemmed from the guy in your life doing something thoughtless, to which you’d swear off the entire gender for all times. Or at least until your hangover wore off and suddenly your “best friend” was telepathically expected to have forgiven “the bastard” and be fine with getting brushed aside once again.
This is not to say anyone who wants to have friends cannot be in a relationship. I have friends (ahem, Saint Hench of Woodside Lane, ahem) who were (gasp!) in a relationship when we became friends, but has come to be the best friend I’ve ever had, through college, through her marriage, and despite the fact that she lives five hours from me and we have spent mere hours together in the last three years. Not to overtly deify anyone or anything, but she’s a pretty goddamned perfect friend.
Never once has Hench expected anything other than honesty and maybe a few hot dogs along the way. We have had exactly one argument not related to music or hot men. I remember it exactly. We were driving (OK, she was driving) down Hampton Boulevard towards ODU, crossing over 38th street and passing Camp Zama record store. We had been talking about middle names, and I asserted that I did not have one. Hench firmly informed me that Ann WAS my middle name; point blank, period. (Big ups RWNY2 Nicole). I felt betrayed and murderous. I don’t remember how the argument ended, probably thrown off course by a sighting of some beautiful bomb boy, but it was over regardless by the time we hit BAL (I know you bitches know the geography) and Hench has quite a lead foot. Over the years, Hench has taken a lot of guff from me, and still gave me rides wherever I needed to go. She carried the enormous burden that is the asshole flag, which she surprisingly only waved a few times, and always knew the exact thing to say that would make me accept her ruling. Usually something along the lines of “You’re going to have to drop out of school and you may never lay eyes on (Mike Presta) again.” If you have no idea what I’m talking about, it’s probably better for you.
(I’d like to take a hot second to thank (REDACTED!) for this opportunity to be as obnoxiously verbose as I have been in years. It’s fucking fantastic and no, Hench, I’ve held no beers this evening. By the by, would “obnoxiously verbose” be considered an oxymoron? I wasn’t an English major, but I played one on TV.)
While I am extolling virtues, I’ma go ahead and put one Leslie Paxton on blast (me and my damn RW-begotten slang). My first memory of Leslie is from the night before Thanksgiving break in Rogers Hall at ODU. There were about 7 people in the dorm counting RA’s and custodial staff. Needless to say, Leslie and I bumped into each other. We bonded over Foo Fighters and Super Nintendo. Now, Leslie and I weren’t the tightest of bros. She had Tiesha, and Hench & I had very demanding people-watching schedules in the Webb. But we shared some belly-laughs from time to time, and admittedly my being friends with (REDACTED!) facilitated my being friends with Leslie. Further, I don’t really think it was until (REDACTED!) left ODU that Leslie and I grew any kind of close. We walked a lot in the residential neighborhood adjacent to Powhatan and tried our best not to look like poor college students desperate for a peek at a normal life in suburbia, a land where ramen noodles are a novelty rather than a necessity, and taco night is an afterthought rather than a feast deserving of actual plates. To speed this montage up, Leslie came to work with me at SAC, which ultimately put the choke hold on our friendship. We dealt with some big-time, knock-down, drag-out shit, and didn’t talk for like a hundred years. Or two. Yes, it was about two years. A year and a half? I don’t know from math.
Alas, Leslie and I began to bump into each other in oh-so-chic downtown Norfolk nightspots, and managed to build up a limited cordiality in the sterile environment that is Backstage Café. Too loud to string together any kind of sophisticated unpleasant conversation to further widen the rift, too loud not to only manage pleasantries and neutral commentary at best. Actually, I’m not really sure how we came to actually have a real conversation again. Forgive me if I have a massive legion on my brain that makes me have cognitive and memory issues from time to time (we’ll touch on that later)…but I believe it was the night of the Ludacris concert at ODU. I had some tickets and tried to get a hold of Leslie, knowing she’d enjoy the show. We never did get to meet up, but she called me as I was walking out of the convocation center, and we talked all the way on my drive back to Chesafreake. When I got home, I sat in my car talking on the phone for two hours. We didn’t talk about what caused us not to talk in the first place, but rather just about our lives at that moment. We traded horror stories about our wretched first jobs out of college, frustrations about being out of college, and just kind of gabbed. I missed Leslie’s accent, her tendency to not only impersonate people but write fictional dialogue for them that totally sums up them up better than actual dialogue of theirs could, and her frankness. I will try to don the cap of a good person and suggest that a guy someone describes as an all-around gem, good church-goin’ folk that helps old ladies across the street and loads their groceries into the car for them is actually a nice guy, and Leslie will explain him away as “a 30-year old virgin and you know it”. This is why I must have Leslie as a friend. She does not dilly-dally, and she keeps my brain on its toes (or cord?).
I have learned a thing or two about what a good friend is in the last 7 months. At the end of April, I broke my leg as a result of a mounting as-yet-undetected Multiple Sclerosis attack. I was diagnosed two days later, and my life changed forever. The details of my disease are for another manifesto. This one is about friendship. My true friends showed themselves in all different ways. The ones local to me were big on bringing gifts to the hospital or just coming to sit with me. Some were real troopers, fielding messages relaying yet another phone number to use for yet another hospital stay (there were six in all) and finding time in their busy schedules to take a minute out to call and say hello. It reminded me that there are normal people in the world, not just sick people, people who take care of sick people, and family members who wanted to tear their hair out in frustration over what was happening to me. It was a time when I didn’t want to go to sleep, because I didn’t want to wake up and find something else wrong with me.
The day I came home from the hospital after diagnosis, my friend Daina came to my house armed with a stack of packets full of information she’d gathered on MS. They were collated and bound, and there were enough for everyone in my family. I for one was grateful if only because I had no real grasp on exactly what this disease I had was, let alone the risk she took making all those copies on the company dime (kidding!). Daina called me every day, and even though she knew I had my sister graciously serving as my personal nurse and attending to my every need, she constantly called to say she was stopping at Target on her way home from work and did I need anything, or do I have to go anywhere and need her to take me?
Or take Dena and Gabriella. When I was released from the hospital for the third time, Dena and Gabriella both happened to be in town (from DC and Florida, respectively). I’ve kept in regular contact with Dena, but Gabriella not so much. We haven’t spoken in years, and in fact, had some bad blood over an ancient fight. When they could have been out whooping it up, and laying the mack down on their vacations, they became seasoned professionals at carting my crippled ass around our tiny island, loading me and the wheelchair into Dena’s Jeep at record speed and efficiency, and never once making me feel like a burden.
Throw in some awesomeness from the Hench (of course), Horns, various co-workers, and most of all my sister. She is most certainly going to get one of the cushiest clouds to sit on in heaven, if only for that one time, during my second visit to the hospital when I was on industrial-strength medications too numerous to name, coupled with a broken leg and confinement to a bed pan…I umm…made a mess and somehow had enough wits about me in my stupor to hide the evidence in a bedside drawer. She never took the opportunity to use this against me (at least not in front of me), and for that I have abstained from sneaking into her room when she’s not at home and farting on her bed to alleviate any ill-will I may build up towards her.
I bet you didn’t expect to read about poop and farts, now did you? That’s probably something you didn’t know about me. I’d be modest to say bodily functions account for at least 40% of my conversations. It might not help that I live with my sister, a critical care nurse, who deals almost exclusively in the bodily function, fluid, and dysfunction business; but who’s counting. If you think this is a slap in the face of sisterhood, you clearly don’t know my sister. She nasty.
Hey, how about I make a point regarding my original inspiration for this composition? Let’s talk about what a bad friend might do faced with a situation like mine.
A bad friend, like (REDACTED!), might happen to call you on your cell phone during your first hospital stay. They might be absolutely distraught over your condition. They may dutifully keep in touch throughout your initial ordeal. Just hearing their voice and knowing that they are thinking about you may comfort you more than the most optimistic outlook any doctor could give. They may offer to rush to your side, but you insist that is not necessary, that knowing they care is more than enough. The bad friend puts on a very moving show. And then they disappear. After a handful of more hospital stays, and some seriously scary shit, you come to find out that, no, your bad friend has not driven off the side of some mountain road, thereby explaining their mysterious vanishing act. Your bad friend met a guy. And even if this is the guy that your friend may spend the rest of her life with, you can’t help but be hurt. Your bad friend makes small attempts to reconnect. Your bad friend blames an odd work schedule for not having better contact. But you scratch your head at the notion that an odd work schedule would prohibit someone from maintaining a friendship they purport to be very important to them on the least demanding of levels: an occasional phone call, but this bad friend somehow found the time to not only establish a new relationship, but establish one so deep that they’re gonna bring God and some paper into the equation. You didn’t expect your bad friend to have dropped everything, rushed to your side, and hold your hand through the whole messy ordeal. She didn’t need to empty your commode or buy you a teddy bear urging you to “Hang in there, baby”. All she had to use all of her scruples; her extensive education, her deep sensitivity, her strong sense of self, and her abilities to really bang out those Jack Handey quotes; to do was pick up a mother-fathering phone and say, as a good friend (Leslie Paxton) said, “I don’t really know what to say, but I’m here.”
If sickness scares you, I understand. It’s not offensive to say that. What’s offensive is someone who’s your biggest cheerleader until some wayward quarterback saunters by and hocks a loogie in her general direction, thus indicating true love, and ceasing the need for your late-night drunken Instant Message support system.
I have taken a few wrong turns with this entry for sure. I’ve stopped in rest stops and read “Us Weekly” for the hell of it. But at least if you’ve read this far, I’m taking away a fraction of the time from you that trying to make sense of your special friendship tactics has cost me.
And like you, I’m not upset anymore. Like the little lady in Poltergeist say, “This house is clean”.
Revisiting an earlier point, yes, this implosion was a long time coming. The things I’ve mentioned here are only a few in a long line of warning signs that I really should have taken as my cue to bow out gracefully a long, long time ago. Maybe then we would have the opportunity to come together some time in the future and start fresh. I take responsibility for not speaking up in favor of not wanting to make waves for an already strained long-distance friendship as it was. And I take responsibility for not making a better effort to adapt to the reality that our friendship had changed from those heady days at ODU; drinking really terrible vodka, assaulting amphibians, and foolishly thinking life could be that simple forever.
You seem extremely concerned that your position be public, and if I do say so myself (with extreme self-awareness) that this lady doth protest too much. You tried to point a similar finger in my direction for inferring something from what you said in your blog about other people’s opinion of your wedding prattle. To which I call a sincere bullshit, as you cannot say that what was exchanged over e-mail (my sending you a link to this here blog and your subsequent reading) and what you posted on your blog (which you handily reminded me of the link to) are mutually exclusive. No way, no how.
And, speaking of blogs, if you really want to know my personal inspiration for creating Our Electronic Friendship…it was your penchant for electronic communication, and truly, I envisioned it as a new way that we could keep in touch. Do you know what Hench’s immediate response to reading it was? “I want in.” And access was granted. Yours? “I’m glad you two are so tight.” Which, despite what you say, is dripping with judgement and/or bitterness. While I had the stupid hope that you might be interested in participating as well, I didn’t even get the chance to extend the invite before the whole thing gained a taint.
But you know, everything happens for a reason. I’m bummed that you didn’t come on board, and in an unfortunate turn of events we’re not friends anymore. But I really love the electronic friendship that I have with Leslie, Hench, and even though I’ve never met her, our loyal reader Sheiko (what’s up girl! Leslie thinks your alright, and that’s alright with me.) . I’m embarrassingly giddy thinking about the possibilities down the road. And admittedly, my friendship with Hench didn’t really need a boost, but I’m glad to have the opportunity to nurture it in a whole new obnoxious way. But the real success story (I think) is that Leslie and I have found a way to do the same, that is, nurture our friendship in a whole new obnoxious way. I hope to do the same with others and for others someday.
And as I make a dent in my 8th page of text in Word, I know I’m way past the time to wrap this crap-fest up. I haven’t made much sense, but I have medications I can blame for that if I get in a jam. As for resolutions, there are none, as has already been stated by both parties.
I think breaking up with a friend is a million times more bewildering than breaking up with a boyfriend. There’s no property to divide, no real embarrassment or consequences when you accidentally call your next friend by their name, and unlike the convenient excuse of “he cheated on me” or “he kisses his mother on the mouth”, you’ll never really be able to wrap your head around it.
November 30, 2004
so close to perfect, swear to hell thought it was you
At least you are only dealing with mother issues. My problem is with my whole family. First, my brother dissed me practically the whole weekend. Now, we have never been as close as some brother-sister duos, but still you would think that he would want to spend a little bit of time with me. Instead, he wanted to hang out with his friend who was in "from out of town." And am I not from "out of town?" He can't even be creative with his excuses, just saying "I'm tired, and I don't like Nicholas Cage." Then we come home from the movies and he is gone, leaving a note on a cranberry-stained paper towel by the coffee pot simply saying "went to see my friend Mikki from out of town." Now, I'm no big fan of Nicholas Cage(really, what has he done of note since Raising Arizona?) but I went to the movie because it is a tradition in our house and because my dad was scared of the gay sex scenes in "Alexander." Which, by the way, is limited to a kiss or two and a hug. I don't think they are even naked hugs, mind you. Plus, he told me he invited his friend over for dinner because he didn't have any family around. This guy used to be seriously hot (way back in July for cripes sake) and now? Not so hot. At all. Sadly. Mistaken. What a let down. I mean it would have been sort of nice....
My mother. I don't know how it happend, but gradually since I moved out and away, everything she says seems to annoy me in a gradually excelerating manner. I start home in a good mood and by the second day, I'm shutting down. I think it is because she will ask you the same question over and over again until you give her the "right" answer. Usually, about little everyday things like "Are you sure you don't want to eat an egg for breakfast?" Usually, the "right" answer is the opposite of what I say. Or maybe it is because she always refers to herself as Grandma when speaking with the cat. And I am always Mommy. And she speaks in a disgustingly sweet baby talk voice. And my brother is Uncle Dave. C'mon now.
Then again, I listened to David Sedaris' Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim on the way home. It sort of puts things in perspective. I recommend the audio book version, because the stories are priceless when read by him. His voice. His impressions of his hick brother Paul. It is the kind of audio book you can get obsessed with.
GGB is on page 101 of that People magazine. You were sort of close. Maybe a little dyslexic. Also, he is on page 35. In drag. I thought it was Holly Hunter, but alas, it is GGB. It doesn't diminish anything, people.
My mother. I don't know how it happend, but gradually since I moved out and away, everything she says seems to annoy me in a gradually excelerating manner. I start home in a good mood and by the second day, I'm shutting down. I think it is because she will ask you the same question over and over again until you give her the "right" answer. Usually, about little everyday things like "Are you sure you don't want to eat an egg for breakfast?" Usually, the "right" answer is the opposite of what I say. Or maybe it is because she always refers to herself as Grandma when speaking with the cat. And I am always Mommy. And she speaks in a disgustingly sweet baby talk voice. And my brother is Uncle Dave. C'mon now.
Then again, I listened to David Sedaris' Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim on the way home. It sort of puts things in perspective. I recommend the audio book version, because the stories are priceless when read by him. His voice. His impressions of his hick brother Paul. It is the kind of audio book you can get obsessed with.
GGB is on page 101 of that People magazine. You were sort of close. Maybe a little dyslexic. Also, he is on page 35. In drag. I thought it was Holly Hunter, but alas, it is GGB. It doesn't diminish anything, people.
I'm fantastic, my words are elastic..
This day started off sort of shit-monst, but with the help of a tasty sandwich, an amusing blog entry from Leslie, and a heaping dose of sugar in the form of the forced monthly "catch-all" birthday cake; I'm a new woman. So inspired am I, I've realized I forgot to give thanks to some of the things that I thought were in 2004. Here goes nothing:
Steve Colman: I must admit that I thought Steve Colman was dope in 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, & 2003 as well. My winamp just happened to play me one of his poems today and it reminded me how crazy words can be sometimes. Also? He's pretty hot. This one time he was at a NACA convention we went to in Jacksonville and I got a chance to chat with him. He told me how he sat next to Jam Master Jay's little brother in elementary school and how his parents have a house in Cape May. The best part of it all was that Preston, unbeknownst to me, was videotaping the entire encounter from afar and voice-overed: "Love Happens." That Preston Noe, he sure was one silly bitch.
Freaks and Geeks: Hench sent this to me when I broke my leg to pass the time while sentenced to the barca lounger. She's definitely getting into heaven.
Okay...I'm gonna ad-mit it right here: the sugar high I was riding when I started this entry has completely crashed and burned and I've lost my ambition. I guess we can make this into a series of posts...like Howard does with the F-Emmys. Hmm?
Steve Colman: I must admit that I thought Steve Colman was dope in 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, & 2003 as well. My winamp just happened to play me one of his poems today and it reminded me how crazy words can be sometimes. Also? He's pretty hot. This one time he was at a NACA convention we went to in Jacksonville and I got a chance to chat with him. He told me how he sat next to Jam Master Jay's little brother in elementary school and how his parents have a house in Cape May. The best part of it all was that Preston, unbeknownst to me, was videotaping the entire encounter from afar and voice-overed: "Love Happens." That Preston Noe, he sure was one silly bitch.
Freaks and Geeks: Hench sent this to me when I broke my leg to pass the time while sentenced to the barca lounger. She's definitely getting into heaven.
Okay...I'm gonna ad-mit it right here: the sugar high I was riding when I started this entry has completely crashed and burned and I've lost my ambition. I guess we can make this into a series of posts...like Howard does with the F-Emmys. Hmm?
I met your boyfriend today...
by merely chance coincidence really. I was in 7-11 trying to handle the oatmeal cookies with the tissue paper that they provide for you. *All though I can't really fathom why they have tissue paper since there are knats flying around in the cookie container anyway. We wouldn't want the knats to become ill over my hand germs would we* I'm digressing - so this guy behind me says "where's your friend?" cept it sounds kinda like "Whea's yo frieend?" (He's talking about the lady that normally works behind the desk) She answers and he responds and says something about silly-ass or crazy ass. Except he accentuates the word ass and it sounds like "ess" and then is bellowing laughter. So at this point I've caught the fast speaking jersey accent and the emphasis on funny words (keep in mind I haven't even seen him). I turn around and I was like he is sooo CA. He was tall and stocky, but not like a football player though. Not an athletic build. I could tell you he was a beautiful person, but come on now; none of us are that beautiful. He had a face like Chris Pontius with that "I used to have a pony tail Haircut" and a blondy scruffily beard. I guess the look was like those guys that you said looked like Dane Cook or something in your previous blog. I'm not saying you would elope with Mr. 7-11, but it reminded me of the episode of friends where Phoebe meets Monica's soul-mate. I talked briefly with ol boy for a minute and thought if he were to meet CA the blog would become "My Electronic Relationship..p.s. to hell with Leslie"....
November 29, 2004
..always 10
Geez, did our weekends run parallel or what? Don't get me wrong, I love my mom, but there really IS that mother daughter thing.
MOM: "Pick-up your shoes, Leslie. Pick up YOUR shoes, Leslie. PICK UP YOUR SHOES NOW LESLIE!!"
Me: I will Mom. I WILL MOM. GEEZUS, MOM I'll pick up my damn shoes!!! AAAAGGGH!
...then five minutes later
MOM: "Have you called your brother?"
Me: "No."
MOM:"Call your brother."
Me:"No, you wanna talk to him, you call."
MOM: "Fine, if you can't call your brother we're not going." Then, to further the flames-"I just can't do anything right for you can I!" And finally, she leaves the room and shuts the door. Which leaves me feeling guilty for a.yelling and b. being "disobedient."
My mom's friend says: No matter how old I get, I will be treated as if I'm 10 years old. My theory is that me and my mom are nearly the same person 33 years apart. Which is why we can't talk to each other with any sorta sympathy or compassion. She's a talker. I'm a talker. So we both just talk AT each other and don't listen.
Thank goodness I have my brother to remind me that I am ALMOST 30 and my feelings on mom will be overode by my impending mid-life crisis.
Happy Freakin Thanksgiving!
MOM: "Pick-up your shoes, Leslie. Pick up YOUR shoes, Leslie. PICK UP YOUR SHOES NOW LESLIE!!"
Me: I will Mom. I WILL MOM. GEEZUS, MOM I'll pick up my damn shoes!!! AAAAGGGH!
...then five minutes later
MOM: "Have you called your brother?"
Me: "No."
MOM:"Call your brother."
Me:"No, you wanna talk to him, you call."
MOM: "Fine, if you can't call your brother we're not going." Then, to further the flames-"I just can't do anything right for you can I!" And finally, she leaves the room and shuts the door. Which leaves me feeling guilty for a.yelling and b. being "disobedient."
My mom's friend says: No matter how old I get, I will be treated as if I'm 10 years old. My theory is that me and my mom are nearly the same person 33 years apart. Which is why we can't talk to each other with any sorta sympathy or compassion. She's a talker. I'm a talker. So we both just talk AT each other and don't listen.
Thank goodness I have my brother to remind me that I am ALMOST 30 and my feelings on mom will be overode by my impending mid-life crisis.
Happy Freakin Thanksgiving!
Down, but not out
Alas, I haven’t fallen off the face of the blog-o-sphere…I was just sucked into a black-hole of maddening paranoia laced with inexplicable venom A.K.A. weathering an extended Thanksgiving visit from the moms.
What is it about mothers---why do they have the insane ability to find the button to press to make you go totally apeshit (in your mind) on a dime? How can a sentence like “That lamp really doesn’t throw that much light, does it?” make you totally question every decision you’ve made in your adult life, and at the same time, want to punch a baby? A baby wearing glasses, even?
Bah. I’m actually getting better at dealing with what my brother Brian calls “The Mother-Daughter Thing, man.” Even if I did find myself spewing “WHAT are you TALKING about???” at least two dozen times this holiday weekend.
I finally sat down and watched “All the Real Girls” yesterday, and as a result have a temporary crush on Paul Schneider, who looks like Dane Cook and John C. Reilly had a baby and that’s just alright with me.
I do have to confer with the Hench, though, because I was in line at the Acme yesterday and happened upon the People magazine with Jude Law on the cover that relegedly also contained a picture of her man Gael Garcia Bernal, but in my frenzied thumbing I couldn’t find it before it was my turn to load up the conveyor belt. A disappointing end to a disappointing weekend, indeed. I thought you said it was around page 110? What’s the beef, sir? (m’am)
What is it about mothers---why do they have the insane ability to find the button to press to make you go totally apeshit (in your mind) on a dime? How can a sentence like “That lamp really doesn’t throw that much light, does it?” make you totally question every decision you’ve made in your adult life, and at the same time, want to punch a baby? A baby wearing glasses, even?
Bah. I’m actually getting better at dealing with what my brother Brian calls “The Mother-Daughter Thing, man.” Even if I did find myself spewing “WHAT are you TALKING about???” at least two dozen times this holiday weekend.
I finally sat down and watched “All the Real Girls” yesterday, and as a result have a temporary crush on Paul Schneider, who looks like Dane Cook and John C. Reilly had a baby and that’s just alright with me.
I do have to confer with the Hench, though, because I was in line at the Acme yesterday and happened upon the People magazine with Jude Law on the cover that relegedly also contained a picture of her man Gael Garcia Bernal, but in my frenzied thumbing I couldn’t find it before it was my turn to load up the conveyor belt. A disappointing end to a disappointing weekend, indeed. I thought you said it was around page 110? What’s the beef, sir? (m’am)
November 24, 2004
Where in the world is Carol Ann Sandiego?
I'm rapidly approaching being 3 blogs ahead of you. I'm going to have to write something political again to get you fired up. Perhaps we should right a commentary on what happened to those Wisconsin hunters? Sheesh, if ever there was a testimonial for stricter gun control laws! What a bunch of douchebags! HA! Or...Did you see Anna Nicole Smith on the AMA's? SNL did a great sketch about "The American Trainwreck" awards. Tina Fey is funny as hell. What about how they are thinking about doing away with Accutane because of the destructive nature of it's side effects? Well, most could probably give a *ish about that, but I actually take that pill so I'm taking a notice to it. Man I haven't felt this crazy since I put meat tenderizer by accident into my fam's pasta salad.
On well, tomorrow I'm on the road again like Willie Nelson. Seafish is growing angry with me, I've promised her (my car for those outta the loop) oil for the 2nd time without paydirt. Hopefully (fingers crossed) my brother will come back with me so I won't have to make the journey again by my lonesome.
Happy Thanksgiving All
On well, tomorrow I'm on the road again like Willie Nelson. Seafish is growing angry with me, I've promised her (my car for those outta the loop) oil for the 2nd time without paydirt. Hopefully (fingers crossed) my brother will come back with me so I won't have to make the journey again by my lonesome.
Happy Thanksgiving All
November 22, 2004
pffew...
The message of the past two weeks, at least around me, has been "talk about it, it will make you feel better..." ---
So my uncle died last week. I went expecting to go to a funeral, but was actually a memorial service. Upon learning of his impending situation; he decided it would be best to be cremated. I've had mixed feelings about the whole thing. My mom and her brothers and sisters have been going through a roller coaster for two weeks and "a funeral" might have been a bit more than anyone could have handled. I think with funerals it's the fact that that person is there before you, even if only in body. You can't help but feel they are going to get up and start behaving as if they were sleeping quietly waiting for their mourners to slip past and wake them up.
The preacher didn't know my uncle at all which made me kinda feel weird about him telling everybody there how he "was". And it made me sad then his entire life's acheivements were summed up in less than a paragraph:...."he donated 8 gallons of blood to the red cross"; "John ran track in high school", "John served his country",
"John liked pickles", "John worked for 20 years at some factory"..
Then the preacher asked people to stand up and share memories of my uncle. About 5 out of 120 some people spoke. Of which were two of his sisters, a high school coach, and a second or third cousin. My mom was one of the two sisters. I've have never been more proud of her for standing up and speaking for her brother. I love my mom for saying that: he was a little boy, he was a teenager, he was a soldier, a man graduating college, a man getting married, and a father.
She's brave in ways I can only hope to be at some point. I couldn't help but think, if this was me; who would speak? Who among the masses of people that you come into contact with would have the courage to say how they really and truly feel about the person they are saying good-bye to?
After the services, the church had made a huge feast for the family. I seen cousins that I didn't even know were my cousins and re-introduced myself to family that I had forgot, but that hadn't forgot me. This part was, in it's own way; kinda happy. It was like loosing one member and gaining 20. I can only hope in the years that come, that we get together for celebrations rather than losses.
I think I'll close with that thought. Now on to lighter fares again..
So my uncle died last week. I went expecting to go to a funeral, but was actually a memorial service. Upon learning of his impending situation; he decided it would be best to be cremated. I've had mixed feelings about the whole thing. My mom and her brothers and sisters have been going through a roller coaster for two weeks and "a funeral" might have been a bit more than anyone could have handled. I think with funerals it's the fact that that person is there before you, even if only in body. You can't help but feel they are going to get up and start behaving as if they were sleeping quietly waiting for their mourners to slip past and wake them up.
The preacher didn't know my uncle at all which made me kinda feel weird about him telling everybody there how he "was". And it made me sad then his entire life's acheivements were summed up in less than a paragraph:...."he donated 8 gallons of blood to the red cross"; "John ran track in high school", "John served his country",
"John liked pickles", "John worked for 20 years at some factory"..
Then the preacher asked people to stand up and share memories of my uncle. About 5 out of 120 some people spoke. Of which were two of his sisters, a high school coach, and a second or third cousin. My mom was one of the two sisters. I've have never been more proud of her for standing up and speaking for her brother. I love my mom for saying that: he was a little boy, he was a teenager, he was a soldier, a man graduating college, a man getting married, and a father.
She's brave in ways I can only hope to be at some point. I couldn't help but think, if this was me; who would speak? Who among the masses of people that you come into contact with would have the courage to say how they really and truly feel about the person they are saying good-bye to?
After the services, the church had made a huge feast for the family. I seen cousins that I didn't even know were my cousins and re-introduced myself to family that I had forgot, but that hadn't forgot me. This part was, in it's own way; kinda happy. It was like loosing one member and gaining 20. I can only hope in the years that come, that we get together for celebrations rather than losses.
I think I'll close with that thought. Now on to lighter fares again..
November 18, 2004
Well, Carol Ann I think....
1. I think that red wine enthusiasts have never been on food stamps.
2. I think that if you are talented enough to get a full day's worth of work done in a half day, then you need to get a new job.
3. I think that my IPOD is "God's Machine".
4. I think that by meerly assessing Cheeto's caloric content alone, they can indeed be counted as a full dinner.
5. I think that ODB is going to heaven also. I mean; he interupted Shawn Colvin's grammy award speech to tell us that Wu-Tang is for "the children."
6. I think that romantic love is easy.
7. I think All My Children is the bomb-diggy. Where else can you hear phrases like "Of course you are attracted to me; you're a man. I'm Erica Kane."
8. I think your boyfriend is average.
You did ask for it after all. :)
2. I think that if you are talented enough to get a full day's worth of work done in a half day, then you need to get a new job.
3. I think that my IPOD is "God's Machine".
4. I think that by meerly assessing Cheeto's caloric content alone, they can indeed be counted as a full dinner.
5. I think that ODB is going to heaven also. I mean; he interupted Shawn Colvin's grammy award speech to tell us that Wu-Tang is for "the children."
6. I think that romantic love is easy.
7. I think All My Children is the bomb-diggy. Where else can you hear phrases like "Of course you are attracted to me; you're a man. I'm Erica Kane."
8. I think your boyfriend is average.
You did ask for it after all. :)
November 17, 2004
I THINK
1. I think that red wine enthusiasts don't really like red wine as much as they say they do.
2. I think that if you are talented enough to get done what your boss might consider to be a full day's worth of work before noon, you should be free to go.
3. I think that TiVo is indeed, as I read it today referred to as, "God's machine".
4. I think Cheetos CAN count as dinner.
5. I think that ODB is going to heaven, if only for bringing the world such profound prose as "I don't have a problem with you fucking me, I have a little problem with you not fucking me."
6. I think romantic love is overrated.
7. I think Days of Our Lives is not so much a cheesy soap opera that employs preposterous storylines and embarrassing CGI, but more of a cautionary tale about what can happen when everyone in your town is somehow related.
8. I think your boyfriend is a fantastic human being. Really!
2. I think that if you are talented enough to get done what your boss might consider to be a full day's worth of work before noon, you should be free to go.
3. I think that TiVo is indeed, as I read it today referred to as, "God's machine".
4. I think Cheetos CAN count as dinner.
5. I think that ODB is going to heaven, if only for bringing the world such profound prose as "I don't have a problem with you fucking me, I have a little problem with you not fucking me."
6. I think romantic love is overrated.
7. I think Days of Our Lives is not so much a cheesy soap opera that employs preposterous storylines and embarrassing CGI, but more of a cautionary tale about what can happen when everyone in your town is somehow related.
8. I think your boyfriend is a fantastic human being. Really!
When the pawn.....
No Make-up NO Magic...
This morning I got up at 6:30. God knows I shoulda been up at 6. It's like even though I know I need at least an hour and a critical half to get ready for work I can't resist playing that danger card every day. I mean I really COULD get to work at 8 vs. 8:05 or say 8:15 but then my employers would come to expect it and we wouldn't want that would we? It's gotten so now I consider myself early when I'm actually just ON TIME.
So after shambling around, it's time for the next key decision. Do I wanna look foxy or just decent? I'm not really sure at this point why I should even wear clothes at all seeing as how no one really sees me except E, my co-designer. Everyone here (work) is married or too old to even consider as someone to impress. *Let me clarify - as someone to impress aesthically not professionally.
My IMAC is sexy though. I have the hottest computer in the whole building. Eat your heart out P.C. devotees. My IPOD is even sexier. I actually grew annoyed last week that someone wanted to go walking with me on my lunch break. Just simply because then I could not be alone with my IPOD. How dare them?
I digress. I decide I look decent today which means I grab the huge parachute-like dress outfit which is just well..too big. It doesn't compliment or accentuate anything - it's just comfy. You know the type that says I'm just "okay".
When I actually role in at 8:13 (my latest to date barring a doctor's apt.) I realize that I am only decent because I normally at least get a generic "nice coat" compliment. Today I gets nones.
Controversy erupts from one of our conference rooms because; now get ready for this, gasp: Someone has eaten 3 of the sandwiches meant for vendors (aka new clients or old important ones). HR sets out looking for the criminal so they can take them to the town center and shackle them in irons. I'm sad because the villain gets away with it and I'm not able to throw any old lettuce.
My brother calls me and work and says in his low drone "What'r u dooin?" Doing actually sounds more like "dune" seeing as how he is: A. from the country and B. half asleep. I think, "Gee seeing as how it's 2 o'clock and a Wednesday, I am AT WORK" . But really, does it matter if you're at work anymore with phone calls and family?
Marcia calls me for IT consultation sometime later. Her IT department..gasp..is made up of a series of P.C. gurus who know how to help the systems as a whole, but have no concept of how to help with MAC based design programs. I'm not bashing the P.C., but it's starting to be like English as a second language. I can cross over. Technicians need to make the cross to. At least if they want their newspapers to look any sorta decent.
It's nearing the end of the work day now and I'm listening to some music I borrowed a few weeks ago and half to give back..it's that Fiona Apple cd.. with the long title that starts..when the pawn blah.. blah.. blah....
This morning I got up at 6:30. God knows I shoulda been up at 6. It's like even though I know I need at least an hour and a critical half to get ready for work I can't resist playing that danger card every day. I mean I really COULD get to work at 8 vs. 8:05 or say 8:15 but then my employers would come to expect it and we wouldn't want that would we? It's gotten so now I consider myself early when I'm actually just ON TIME.
So after shambling around, it's time for the next key decision. Do I wanna look foxy or just decent? I'm not really sure at this point why I should even wear clothes at all seeing as how no one really sees me except E, my co-designer. Everyone here (work) is married or too old to even consider as someone to impress. *Let me clarify - as someone to impress aesthically not professionally.
My IMAC is sexy though. I have the hottest computer in the whole building. Eat your heart out P.C. devotees. My IPOD is even sexier. I actually grew annoyed last week that someone wanted to go walking with me on my lunch break. Just simply because then I could not be alone with my IPOD. How dare them?
I digress. I decide I look decent today which means I grab the huge parachute-like dress outfit which is just well..too big. It doesn't compliment or accentuate anything - it's just comfy. You know the type that says I'm just "okay".
When I actually role in at 8:13 (my latest to date barring a doctor's apt.) I realize that I am only decent because I normally at least get a generic "nice coat" compliment. Today I gets nones.
Controversy erupts from one of our conference rooms because; now get ready for this, gasp: Someone has eaten 3 of the sandwiches meant for vendors (aka new clients or old important ones). HR sets out looking for the criminal so they can take them to the town center and shackle them in irons. I'm sad because the villain gets away with it and I'm not able to throw any old lettuce.
My brother calls me and work and says in his low drone "What'r u dooin?" Doing actually sounds more like "dune" seeing as how he is: A. from the country and B. half asleep. I think, "Gee seeing as how it's 2 o'clock and a Wednesday, I am AT WORK" . But really, does it matter if you're at work anymore with phone calls and family?
Marcia calls me for IT consultation sometime later. Her IT department..gasp..is made up of a series of P.C. gurus who know how to help the systems as a whole, but have no concept of how to help with MAC based design programs. I'm not bashing the P.C., but it's starting to be like English as a second language. I can cross over. Technicians need to make the cross to. At least if they want their newspapers to look any sorta decent.
It's nearing the end of the work day now and I'm listening to some music I borrowed a few weeks ago and half to give back..it's that Fiona Apple cd.. with the long title that starts..when the pawn blah.. blah.. blah....
November 16, 2004
Off the top of my head: “The magic is in the make-up”
Historically, I’d never been a big make-up person. Not quite Tootie, not exactly Blair (as if!) I just sort of was. That is until Halloween of my sophomore year at ODU. This was during the Golden Age of NN8, when wall-scrawling was plentiful and drunken harassment of passersby far below our ivory/grey tower was the rule. My dysfunctional family of roommates took a trip out to find our costumes & otherwise run amuck in the vicinity of Military Highway, when, in Old Navy, Kristin shouted from somewhere in the store, “MER!” (that was me) “You’re going to be a girl for Halloween!” We bought a sexy stripey sweater, some black pants & black clunky shoes, and the transformation was made. I slapped on some make-up and learned that this new uniform could really work to my advantage.
The title of this entry really should be “The magic is in the black pants”. There was a time when I really did believe that have black pants, will have an outrageously fantastic evening, one which could very possibly end up with one of your good friends splayed out in the doorway to your bedroom demonstrating kung-fu ala Jet Li and lamenting their rap skills inferior to those of Biggie*.
The uniform totally changed my outlook on social interaction. If you believe you are foxy, then you are. John Lennon once said “The Beatles were the best fucking band in the world, and believing it made it so.” (or something like that, but the message remains the same). It’s not that I kept myself shut up with my 78 cats and a tube of cookie dough before I discovered the power of the black pants, My outlook on socializing just sort of morphed. Why not be nice to that girl in the unfortunately fur-lined shirt that’s standing next to you at the bar? You might need her to let you cut in the bathroom line later, and then you’ll never see her again. Ooh, which leads me to yet another sub-theory. Being nice to strange club-goers should apply to your own personal assets. Sure, your big ass looks fine in your comfy old jeans, but why not give it (and your legs) a chance to shine in the black pants? Those gi-normous boobs you’ve been hiding for the greater part of your youth? Let ‘em free for a night! You know you’re not a whore, so why not smoke ‘em if you got ‘em?
How many clichés can I fit into one entry? I’m going to stop now. I think we’ve cured the block. Happy Tuesday!*Yes, I’ve told this, one of my very favorite Leslie stories many times before, and I’ll do it again, dammit. It’s just that classic. (To me)
The title of this entry really should be “The magic is in the black pants”. There was a time when I really did believe that have black pants, will have an outrageously fantastic evening, one which could very possibly end up with one of your good friends splayed out in the doorway to your bedroom demonstrating kung-fu ala Jet Li and lamenting their rap skills inferior to those of Biggie*.
The uniform totally changed my outlook on social interaction. If you believe you are foxy, then you are. John Lennon once said “The Beatles were the best fucking band in the world, and believing it made it so.” (or something like that, but the message remains the same). It’s not that I kept myself shut up with my 78 cats and a tube of cookie dough before I discovered the power of the black pants, My outlook on socializing just sort of morphed. Why not be nice to that girl in the unfortunately fur-lined shirt that’s standing next to you at the bar? You might need her to let you cut in the bathroom line later, and then you’ll never see her again. Ooh, which leads me to yet another sub-theory. Being nice to strange club-goers should apply to your own personal assets. Sure, your big ass looks fine in your comfy old jeans, but why not give it (and your legs) a chance to shine in the black pants? Those gi-normous boobs you’ve been hiding for the greater part of your youth? Let ‘em free for a night! You know you’re not a whore, so why not smoke ‘em if you got ‘em?
How many clichés can I fit into one entry? I’m going to stop now. I think we’ve cured the block. Happy Tuesday!*Yes, I’ve told this, one of my very favorite Leslie stories many times before, and I’ll do it again, dammit. It’s just that classic. (To me)
November 12, 2004
Planes, Ships, and Automobiles
Last Wednesday was the first time I'd ever flown in my life. After removing my belt, bracelets, jacket, shoes, earrings AND necklace I was allowed to leave Nofo. The flight was good. I only felt like I was going to die twice and was left without hearing for only 2 hours.
I'm going to do the rest of the Florida Vacation as a multiple choice test. If you know me at all you can probably guess the answers.
Vacations are:
A. a way to feel good about being a glutton and laying on your ass for an entire week
B. an adventure to a place you would never get to go on a regular trip
C. a wild trip into the psyche of Salsa music
D. All of the above
People in Florida are:
A. Not American
B. All American
C. None of the above
In the left lane of traffic in Florida you are supposed to:
A. Drive faster than the right
B. Drive frightfully slower than the right
C. Park your car and look for Alligators.
A time share vacation package is:
A. a quick way to get a cheap trip to another state and have some fun
B. a good educational experience
C. a hellish foray into the land of vacation real estate and perversion of moral values
My favorite thing at Universal Studios was:
A. Pushing children outta MY WAY to take a picture with the X-MEN
B. Cutting shamelessy through the line to ride the Dueling Dragons roller coaster
C. Forcing Tonya to ride the Jurassic Park water ride by making her wear a poncho
D. Putting SALSA on a hamburger
E. Yelling obscenities at the ghost of Atlantis
F. All of the Above
On the cruise boat I:
A. had a series of meaningless affairs with strange men
B. got drunk and went to sleep
C. went snorkeling and inhaled sea water
D. was searched THOUROUGHLY by a customs officer
When I layed out in the sun in the Bahamas I:
A. Tanned
B. Burned
C. Actually got whiter and was bit by a mutant mosquito
On a riverboat cruise through Ft. Lauderdale (Miami), I
A. met a white woman with black hair extensions
B. danced the YMCA with senior citizens
C. was nearly cast from the boat after accepting a Miller from a cruise-mate
Overall the trip was:
A. an exploration into the hedonistic values of Americans
B. stressful
C. Donde' esta' el bano?
D. Fun
E. All of the above.........
Give me a call peeps..we'll talk
L
I'm going to do the rest of the Florida Vacation as a multiple choice test. If you know me at all you can probably guess the answers.
Vacations are:
A. a way to feel good about being a glutton and laying on your ass for an entire week
B. an adventure to a place you would never get to go on a regular trip
C. a wild trip into the psyche of Salsa music
D. All of the above
People in Florida are:
A. Not American
B. All American
C. None of the above
In the left lane of traffic in Florida you are supposed to:
A. Drive faster than the right
B. Drive frightfully slower than the right
C. Park your car and look for Alligators.
A time share vacation package is:
A. a quick way to get a cheap trip to another state and have some fun
B. a good educational experience
C. a hellish foray into the land of vacation real estate and perversion of moral values
My favorite thing at Universal Studios was:
A. Pushing children outta MY WAY to take a picture with the X-MEN
B. Cutting shamelessy through the line to ride the Dueling Dragons roller coaster
C. Forcing Tonya to ride the Jurassic Park water ride by making her wear a poncho
D. Putting SALSA on a hamburger
E. Yelling obscenities at the ghost of Atlantis
F. All of the Above
On the cruise boat I:
A. had a series of meaningless affairs with strange men
B. got drunk and went to sleep
C. went snorkeling and inhaled sea water
D. was searched THOUROUGHLY by a customs officer
When I layed out in the sun in the Bahamas I:
A. Tanned
B. Burned
C. Actually got whiter and was bit by a mutant mosquito
On a riverboat cruise through Ft. Lauderdale (Miami), I
A. met a white woman with black hair extensions
B. danced the YMCA with senior citizens
C. was nearly cast from the boat after accepting a Miller from a cruise-mate
Overall the trip was:
A. an exploration into the hedonistic values of Americans
B. stressful
C. Donde' esta' el bano?
D. Fun
E. All of the above.........
Give me a call peeps..we'll talk
L
November 2, 2004
Vacation...
In a feeble attempt to not think about my own life and problems for a week, I'm heading to the sunny land of Florida. That's right dead-beat daddies, Beware!! I couldn't have picked a better time seemingly seeing as how our country's future hangs in the balance of the 90 year olds working the polls at the overcrowded elementary school today. 5 days of Ft. Lauderdale 2 days of the Bahamas! I wish everyone could be with me this year.
T my non-electronic best friend had a dream a returned from FLA. A "different" person. Just exactly how, she could not explain. A lady in the election line gave me her business card and said she saw something positive in me. Weird ehh?
Seems like a surreal day. Maybe I'll give her a call. If I don't come back everyone we'll know I'm at Hogwarts or something.
SEE U IN A WEEK!
L
T my non-electronic best friend had a dream a returned from FLA. A "different" person. Just exactly how, she could not explain. A lady in the election line gave me her business card and said she saw something positive in me. Weird ehh?
Seems like a surreal day. Maybe I'll give her a call. If I don't come back everyone we'll know I'm at Hogwarts or something.
SEE U IN A WEEK!
L
November 1, 2004
English Minor
English minor means knowing the correct way to write, but choosing not to be correct.
L
L
Halloween Sux!
Man, Halloween used to be my favorite holiday. It meant scary movies, cold wind, falling leaves, and getting sick from Candy. Over time (college), it just got better. Add the earlier meanings plus beer, depravity, and sacrificing comfort for "cool". Post college a different story-it means women in lingerie with animal ears, naughty school girls, and older people that have stayed waaaay too long at the party.
Last year, I vowed to have a real costume. So I was a wizard. It was a gorgeous outfit for an elementary school teacher. Even the most astute Harry Potter Fan would've been impressed. When I got to "the club" I felt like the school girl with the wedgie at the public pool.
This years resolutions were different. Buy EARLY. Look HOT. BE the character. If only I woulda listened to myself. To make long story short-I spent 2 hours in Party City. Ended up with HUGE BIRD WINGS..*hey don't be down on them..they were pretty and I was desperate. Not to mention the social anxiety disorder that develops when you are around other desperate people. * I did NOT look hot. I resembled a crow or night vulture of some sort. My makeup melted in the heat of the club. My hair was a huge immobile thing due to heavy concentrations of hair paint spray. The more I touched it to "fix" it the worse it got. By the way, friends only tell you "it looks alright" when it looks like a piece o crap. They wanna look better than you anyway. True friends laugh at the pitiful hair gel monster you've become. As for being "Dark Angel"--how bout "Drunk Angel". A lady tried to pull my wings off. And lets just say there was a greeting with someone that went horribly wrong. Sometimes a kiss on the cheek to say hello is NOT THE RIGHT introduction. Loyal readers..call me for the skinny.
Next year I'm being myself. Eating candy and watching scary movies.
Last year, I vowed to have a real costume. So I was a wizard. It was a gorgeous outfit for an elementary school teacher. Even the most astute Harry Potter Fan would've been impressed. When I got to "the club" I felt like the school girl with the wedgie at the public pool.
This years resolutions were different. Buy EARLY. Look HOT. BE the character. If only I woulda listened to myself. To make long story short-I spent 2 hours in Party City. Ended up with HUGE BIRD WINGS..*hey don't be down on them..they were pretty and I was desperate. Not to mention the social anxiety disorder that develops when you are around other desperate people. * I did NOT look hot. I resembled a crow or night vulture of some sort. My makeup melted in the heat of the club. My hair was a huge immobile thing due to heavy concentrations of hair paint spray. The more I touched it to "fix" it the worse it got. By the way, friends only tell you "it looks alright" when it looks like a piece o crap. They wanna look better than you anyway. True friends laugh at the pitiful hair gel monster you've become. As for being "Dark Angel"--how bout "Drunk Angel". A lady tried to pull my wings off. And lets just say there was a greeting with someone that went horribly wrong. Sometimes a kiss on the cheek to say hello is NOT THE RIGHT introduction. Loyal readers..call me for the skinny.
Next year I'm being myself. Eating candy and watching scary movies.
October 29, 2004
Someone has a case of the Fridays
I can't bring myself to do meaningful work today. I've been listening to http://www.woxy.com all day today. I really need to get back in the musical saddle. People always used to ask me what I was listening to, and I never really knew why. But compared to those good old days, my current musical savvy is really sort of embarrassing.
Speaking of when I used to be cool, I just remembered something funny...We went to a Promise Ring show in Richmond and after the show I ran into the lead singer on my way out. I totally sidestepped decorum and my natural anti-meeting-celebrity-types-inclinations and totally shoved him ala Elaine Benis and said "HEY!" Puzzled, he responded likewise and we both laughed. That was it. No "I love your music" or "Thanks for coming to my show". Perfect!
Speaking of when I used to be cool, I just remembered something funny...We went to a Promise Ring show in Richmond and after the show I ran into the lead singer on my way out. I totally sidestepped decorum and my natural anti-meeting-celebrity-types-inclinations and totally shoved him ala Elaine Benis and said "HEY!" Puzzled, he responded likewise and we both laughed. That was it. No "I love your music" or "Thanks for coming to my show". Perfect!
The Best Compliment Ever
It's not often in jobs (at least in my experience) that people take it upon themselves to share POSITIVE gossip about you. My fellow COWS (Common Old Workers as my room-mate calls them) work tirelessly under the radar to ensure that the people above them look intelligent. Today Mary S., a senior COW, stopped me in the hall to share that she had overheard a conversation and that my boss was having with the HR lady Van Goober.
A year ago and a half ago, VanGoober interviewed me and apparently couldn't show me to the door fast enough. 6 months later after re-evaluating me (with some help from a connected insider), I was worthy of the job here.
Mary S. said that my Boss, The Boys (the presidents) and Van Goober were extremely impressed the efficiency of my work since Co-worker X was gone and that I was a "sweet girl". Mary S. coincidentally is in charge of payroll. What could that mean?
This compliment means the world seeing as how this time last year my boss was calling me an adultrous traitor.
What a difference a year makes.
L
A year ago and a half ago, VanGoober interviewed me and apparently couldn't show me to the door fast enough. 6 months later after re-evaluating me (with some help from a connected insider), I was worthy of the job here.
Mary S. said that my Boss, The Boys (the presidents) and Van Goober were extremely impressed the efficiency of my work since Co-worker X was gone and that I was a "sweet girl". Mary S. coincidentally is in charge of payroll. What could that mean?
This compliment means the world seeing as how this time last year my boss was calling me an adultrous traitor.
What a difference a year makes.
L
October 28, 2004
Who I am and What I be
1. What is your full name?
Carol Ann (redacted!)
2. What is your birthday and how old are you?
September 19th, I’m 25
3. What’s your hometown?
I was born in Philadelphia, but grew up in Wildwood, NJ
4. Where do you currently live?
Mays Landing New Jersey, which is actually exactly equidistant between the two.
5. What’s your living situation? (live alone, live at home, roommates, etc.)
My sister recently bought a house and I pay her some money to live there.
6. Do you have any pets?
2 cats. Rufus and The Ging
7. What are you allergic to?
Percocet. More like PUKE-O-cet for me.
8. What was the last movie you saw in the theater?
Team America
9. What is your favorite song of the moment?
I’m super-rusty on my music skillz these days, so it’s probably a radio jingle. East Coast Roofing and Siding? Coast Tile & Marble Supply? Who can pick??
10. What is your favorite meal to cook?
Spaghetti & Meatballs
11. Who is your TV girlfriend/boyfriend?
My hetero TV boyfriend might have to be the guy who plays SuperBoy on Smallville. My gay TV boyfriend is currently Willie from the Real World Philadelphia.
12. What do you do for a living?
I work for a radio group in the sales department. I write make powerpoint presentations….and really anything that requires a computer. I like to think of myself as special teams. I fixed a phone today.
13. What do you wish you did for a living?
I want to work for a think tank.
14. If you won the lottery, what would be your first big-ticket purchase?
Probably a car.
15. What time is bed time?
Usually around 11pm unless it’s a good episode of Howard Stern on E! Then it’s 11:30pm.
16. Coke or Pepsi?
Come on now. Pepsi!
17. What’s the best Halloween costume you ever wore/made?
Last year we were the Seven Duffs. I consider it to be my greatest costumed achievement.
18. How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?
Twenty minutes or so.
19. What is your favorite insult?
What a douche!
20. What was one belief you had as a child that you now know to be preposterous and completely silly?
Takes it out, puts it away, and that’s the way we play the game.
Carol Ann (redacted!)
2. What is your birthday and how old are you?
September 19th, I’m 25
3. What’s your hometown?
I was born in Philadelphia, but grew up in Wildwood, NJ
4. Where do you currently live?
Mays Landing New Jersey, which is actually exactly equidistant between the two.
5. What’s your living situation? (live alone, live at home, roommates, etc.)
My sister recently bought a house and I pay her some money to live there.
6. Do you have any pets?
2 cats. Rufus and The Ging
7. What are you allergic to?
Percocet. More like PUKE-O-cet for me.
8. What was the last movie you saw in the theater?
Team America
9. What is your favorite song of the moment?
I’m super-rusty on my music skillz these days, so it’s probably a radio jingle. East Coast Roofing and Siding? Coast Tile & Marble Supply? Who can pick??
10. What is your favorite meal to cook?
Spaghetti & Meatballs
11. Who is your TV girlfriend/boyfriend?
My hetero TV boyfriend might have to be the guy who plays SuperBoy on Smallville. My gay TV boyfriend is currently Willie from the Real World Philadelphia.
12. What do you do for a living?
I work for a radio group in the sales department. I write make powerpoint presentations….and really anything that requires a computer. I like to think of myself as special teams. I fixed a phone today.
13. What do you wish you did for a living?
I want to work for a think tank.
14. If you won the lottery, what would be your first big-ticket purchase?
Probably a car.
15. What time is bed time?
Usually around 11pm unless it’s a good episode of Howard Stern on E! Then it’s 11:30pm.
16. Coke or Pepsi?
Come on now. Pepsi!
17. What’s the best Halloween costume you ever wore/made?
Last year we were the Seven Duffs. I consider it to be my greatest costumed achievement.
18. How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?
Twenty minutes or so.
19. What is your favorite insult?
What a douche!
20. What was one belief you had as a child that you now know to be preposterous and completely silly?
Takes it out, puts it away, and that’s the way we play the game.
Bingo Tito!
Finally, I can maintenance my pesky friendships whilst keeping my intense social life and career intact. Pffew.
So let's start from the college beginning-who are you? what is your major? where are you from?
1. What is your full name?
Leslie Paxton
2. What is your birthday and how old are you?
August 25 (a SASSy virgo baby yeah!) 26
3. What's your hometown?
Clifton Forge, Virginia
4. Where do you currently live?
Norfolk, VA
5. What's your living situation?
Two other room-mates (please who am I kidding) 5 room-mates
6. Do you have any pets?
One gray cat, closely resembles Church on Pet Sematery
7. What are you allergic to?
Ice Cream and Leather
8. What was the last movie you saw in the theater?
The Grudge
9. What is your favorite song of the moment?
NARC by Interpol
10. What is your favorite meal to cook?
TACOS!
11. Who is your TV girlfriend/boyfriend?
Scott Speedman (from the hit TV show) Felicity
12. What do you do for a living?
Graphic Designer
13. What do you wish you did for a living?
Comic Book artist--Stan Lee watch out!
14. If you won the lottery, what would be your first big-ticket purchase?
A house for my mom. ;)
15. What time is bed time?
10:30..sigh..am getting old
16. Coke or Pepsi?
Mt. Dew is a Pepsi product.
17. What's the best Halloween costume you ever wore/made?
Garfield in Kindergarden. Was plastic and cheap, but cool.
18. How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?
1 hour flat.
19. What is your favorite insult?
Anything involving "yo Momma"..HA!
20. What was one belief you had as a child that you now
know to be preposterous and completely silly?
I used to think my elementary school was HUGE. It's really quite small.
So let's start from the college beginning-who are you? what is your major? where are you from?
1. What is your full name?
Leslie Paxton
2. What is your birthday and how old are you?
August 25 (a SASSy virgo baby yeah!) 26
3. What's your hometown?
Clifton Forge, Virginia
4. Where do you currently live?
Norfolk, VA
5. What's your living situation?
Two other room-mates (please who am I kidding) 5 room-mates
6. Do you have any pets?
One gray cat, closely resembles Church on Pet Sematery
7. What are you allergic to?
Ice Cream and Leather
8. What was the last movie you saw in the theater?
The Grudge
9. What is your favorite song of the moment?
NARC by Interpol
10. What is your favorite meal to cook?
TACOS!
11. Who is your TV girlfriend/boyfriend?
Scott Speedman (from the hit TV show) Felicity
12. What do you do for a living?
Graphic Designer
13. What do you wish you did for a living?
Comic Book artist--Stan Lee watch out!
14. If you won the lottery, what would be your first big-ticket purchase?
A house for my mom. ;)
15. What time is bed time?
10:30..sigh..am getting old
16. Coke or Pepsi?
Mt. Dew is a Pepsi product.
17. What's the best Halloween costume you ever wore/made?
Garfield in Kindergarden. Was plastic and cheap, but cool.
18. How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?
1 hour flat.
19. What is your favorite insult?
Anything involving "yo Momma"..HA!
20. What was one belief you had as a child that you now
know to be preposterous and completely silly?
I used to think my elementary school was HUGE. It's really quite small.
testing...1...2
hey! i haven't posted anything yet. what do you think we should do as an introductory? i think it would be fun to come up with a survey that we both answer. we don't have to tell anyone about this until we have it the way we want...
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