March 31, 2005
So yesterday, as CA would say, my brother earned a spot on the cushiest cloud in heaven. I came home to chicken alfredo already-made; not only for me, but the whole Scooby gang. We went to Wal-Mart and he sacrificed something he wanted to help me get something that I needed (err..wanted.) He helped me clean my room from top to bottom. The key word is clean. Often times I say I am cleaning my room when in essence it is just shuffling the junk from one location to the next. The dust bunnies, or in this case dust elephants were banished from my ceiling, the under-da-bed nether regions, and somewhere beyond the former stack of clothes in my closet, we found the secret city of Narnia. Okay, I made that last part up. He also went running with me at 11:30 at night.
Normally winter is my favorite season, it seems to loose it’s special-ness when stretched out into infinity. I can’t seem to wear any appropriate outfit without either sweating or freezing by the end of the day.
Am torn about Fiona Apple, I feel guilty about obtaining her new cd through illegal downloading-especially since she’s one of my favorite artists. However, if the cd is shelved until infinity, she’s not getting any cash off of it anyway. The compromise I’m making is that when and if the cd is officially released I’ll buy it then.
On Opinions (both solicited and not):
I guess my new thing now is that if I have one will only share now in the secrecy of an enclosed room in Montana. Seeing as how everyone and everything is always watching, listening, and reading. There isn’t really secrecy anyway, it’s just a matter of selective withholding and knowing when to drop the devastating bomb.
I wish he had more than two weeks here. Since he joined the military, I am so proud of him, but always keep in the back of my head a lingering fear that I (and mom) will loose him. However there’s this conversation to cheer me up.
La: “You should join the Navy. You have a degree and some shit. You COULD be a scientist.”
Le: “My degree is in Art. I’d never get to draw.”
La: “So. Annndd???”
March 23, 2005
March 22, 2005
March 18, 2005
This morning I happily sent Leslie some NOFX mp3’s for her review, and she smartly asked if there was any colorful language as she was at work and not wanting to offend those around her. Or get fired. Once, I almost did both on such a grand scale, I still sort of cringe thinking about it.
The time, Summer 1996. The place, Raging Waters at Morey’s Pier in Wildwood, NJ. The situation: my summer job. My fellow guest services staffers and I had many perks to our job. We had the enviable job of kicking people out when their bracelets expired or were violating their “dry spectator” status, we got to make really ominous weather announcements, we could open any locker we wanted, and most importantly, we controlled the music. Grown tired of endless Jimmy Buffett, Hall & Oats, and Boz Scaggs faire; we decided to take music matters into our own hands. We pooled our personal CD collections, and thoughtfully marked on the CD cases which songs were just the right mix of cool and family friendly. Among our favorites was the Violent Femmes, particularly the songs “Blister in the Sun”, “Waiting for the Bus”, and “American Music”. I know, cliché, but we were 16. Sue us.
One hot & sticky afternoon, I was marooned in the middle of the waterpark in the lockerbooth. Battened down with a bunch of keys, souvenir cups, and one-dollar bills, I was a pretty happy camper. The locker booth was a fantastic place. The people-watching opportunity alone made you forget you were trapped in a 3x3 box for hours on end. This particular afternoon, the wife of the owner of the waterpark (and attached amusement pier, among a zillion other things), not to mention one of my best friend’s grandmothers was giving some friends of hers a tour of the waterpark. She’s an adorable little lady, usually decked out in a fantastic linen summer suit, gold shoes, and some gargantuan sunglasses that would have made Aristotle Onassis blush. She was particularly interested in showing her guests the little nature preserve my boss had created between two waterslides for a family of ducks that came back to our waterpark year after year, as they’d recently had some babies.
Then it happened. The factors started stacking up in my head like a falling house of cards. Mrs. Morey is standing 7 feet from me, and conveniently directly underneath a gigantic speaker. 1,500 people currently in the park, and hundreds more milling around above on the boardwalk and out on the beach. I am trapped in the locker booth, and cannot leave. There is not a lifeguard in sight to save the day for me.
Our old friends, the Violent Femmes came over the sound system, but it wasn’t one of the pre-approved songs. Someone had made a mistake in programming the stereo system. What I heard come bellowing out of the speaker was this:
“WHEN I SAY DANCE, YOU BETTER DANCE MOTHERFUCKER!!!!”
I still can’t believe that I did not faint, and more incredibly, Mrs. Morey didn’t bat an eyelash. It was like getting a reprieve from the governor.
March 17, 2005
I have a thing for Ryan Dunn of Viva La Bam fame. Why? I am not sure. I think because he is so calm in the face of the Bam-storm. Did anyone see the episode where they are driving to Bam's new house and Bam opens the passenger side door of his Hummer and pushes Dunn out? I think Bam suprised himself doing that because once Dunn picks his ass up and dusts himself off, Bam gives him a five-second hug as if to make sure Dunn didn't break any bones or decide that he has had enough of being Bam's friend. And how about his willingness to join Bam on an impromptu 20 hour drive to Romania to get Vampire wine from the communist-government-built tourist trap that is Castle Dracula. I just love this dude.
Weird and pointless, huh?
So the Bohemian challenged me about my thoughts on philosophy. The first thing that came to my mind about philosophy is A. that I don’t have one and B. it makes me sleepy (as proven by countless hours in that conundrum that was Intro To Philosophy 201.)
Being the deep minded researcher that I am, I went to the Oracle whose name (by the way is Google) to ask him about philosophy.
My first journey led me to the word existential. After that it was all down hill from there. A mind like mine can’t get a hold of such a big word and merely settle down with its definition. Why the heck are we here? What is the meaning of our existence?
On my philosophy crusade, I found that existentialism created the word angst. Angst defined by philosophers is the desire for what one fears; the immediate consequence of facing the possibility of nothingness; facing the absurdity of our acts and choices. Can the consequences of our acts mean nothingness?
Dave Chappelle show explained that by simply being Rick James and being on crack you could do anything you wanted. By merely virtue of being Rick James.
Last night on South Park, Cartman was rounding up all the hippies in an attempt to stop a jam band concert from coming. “You don’t understand, they are hippies-they will take over and talk about feelings and play music for weeks on end.” And the hippies just respond by saying, “Mellow out little dude.”
I think I am a jam band hippie or maybe we all are Rick James singing and slapping people as we please. That just maybe the meaning of my existence. I guess what I’m getting at here is that I don’t need Freud, or Kirkergaard, or Nietzche (God- did I spell any of those right?) to figure out who I am.
All I need is South Park, a Mt. Dew, and a spoon for my enchiladas.
How’s that for your philosophy.
Mood of the day: Full of sauce.
Looking back, I wish I would have taken philosophy class towards the end of my college career. It seems much practical to have a class that deals with people’s existential crisis when they are about to enter a time period in which everyday is a quest to find out who the hell they are.
March 16, 2005
I get so hyped when I hear this song
It's gonna keep me happy like all day long
So go and talk shit cause it just makes me strong"
----Michael Diamond (nah, it's Clarence)
March 15, 2005
It has been my observation that the people who do all the actual thinking and creating in this world only stand by and watch as those who do neither get to float along all accidental like on a breeze (tm Forrest Gump) have sweet-smelling things happen for them. Including one Ms. Ashlee Simpson, though it’s hard to fault her, given Creepy Pa Simpson’s (tm someone on the TwoP forum) machinations. I don’t know enough about Ryan Cabrerra to say, but something tells me he’s dumb like a fox. I love that phrase.
I am hypocritical because:
My job is to create compelling presentations to help sell “terrestrial radio”, and I do a pretty damn good job---but aside from Howard Stern in the morning (for the next 9 months & 20 days anyway), I haven’t voluntarily listened to it since December when I got Sirius satellite radio for Chrimmas.
I am obsessive because:
I can’t stop taking pictures of my cats with my nifty new camera phone. It’s all I can do to not constantly post the pictures on this here blog. I understand that while my cats are ridiculously cute and silly and odd, they are no more cute or silly or odd than anyone else’s cat, but I can’t help secretly reassuring myself the contrary. Also, um, that whole Stamos fascination. At least it’s not someone totally left-field, like Dave Foley or anything. Oh yes I did!
Work is weird because:
The table in the kitchen is usually a spot where people put cookie-trays or leftover birthday cake, a bounty for all to pick on throughout the day. I’ve found without fail that you can put ANYTHING on the table and SOMEONE will eat it or take it home, including but not limited to half of a sandwich, uneaten Biggie Fries, 3 fried dumplings & used dumpling sauce, an old not-so-sure it works deskjet printer, and a box of “thermal register tape” that was erroneously ordered from Quill. No, they weren’t simply thrown out, believe me, I looked.
I am over winter because:
My windshield wipers are whack. Whenever it snows or sorta snows, it just turns into a clusterfuck of wetness, salt, and blue windshield wiper fluid that I futilely squirt on top of it all to try to remedy the situation. Thus, I drive to work with about 3 square inches of useable windshield space. Not so safe when your peepers have taken the hit that mine have in the last year.
I am asking for trouble because:
Even though I TRULY AM OVER a former friend whose initials are (redacted!), I can’t help but poke with a stick the hornets nest that is her immature need for validation.
Work is weird because my co-worker thinks she’s my boss. I’m not sure how to communicate with her anymore since she’s obviously not from planet earth.
I am over Norfolk winter because it is impossible to dress weather appropriate here.
All the stores are selling are bathing suits and skirts that cut off right under the booty. Not to mention with those winter moccasin boots. Sigh.
I am happy because of puppies, kittens, Frodo, Star Wars, Italian good-byes, and fireplaces. Listing is fun.
I couldn’t resist.
March 12, 2005
March 10, 2005
I don't think that Ryan Cabrera really loves Ashlee Simpson. When she tells him that she loves him (for the 137th time in five minutes) and he pauses for a three seconds before responding, I just know he is thinking about the free publicity he is getting.
I am hypocritical because:
I hold a grudge against this couple because they invited my parents-in-law and my brother-in-law and his girlfriend over to dinner at their house but didn't invite me and Bax (even though we invited them to our wedding and I can guarantee that dinner at their house didn't cost $14.00 per plate with a $6.00 chair fee) but at the same time I am a little disappointed when we are invited to an event (say Baxter's friends' wedding in New York) and my brother-in-law and future sister-in-law are invited, too. Does everything have to be even-stevens?
I am obsessive because:
Days before starting my new job, when I was feeling vulnerable, I watched a movie that suprised me by being so good. I then heard a song that was stunningly good. The two will be forever tied together in my mind and linked to my new job. If I had the movie, I would watch it everyday; I have the song on a cd and I do listen to it everyday, over and over. Not just because it is the first song on the cd and my commute is 6.5 minutes. It takes one round trip or so to get through the song, but then I put it right back on that song again. I will probably listen to this song over and over until one night it will keep me from sleeping, and then I will not be able to listen to it because I will hold a grudge against it for keeping me awake. Why am I so weird?
Work is weird because:
Two of my co-workers have a thing for each other. He is a youngish musician who likes the sound of his own voice (but not in a pompous sort of way) and she is an ethnic beauty who can't/won't marry outside her culture. What hope could they have? Still he flirts, and she obliges his silly jokes with a little laugh and I am trying to read "very important" documents and track down all the misplaced commas and missing apostrophes.
I am over winter because:
It has snowed significantly several times and the only thing it has gotten me out of is bed. I didn't miss any work due to snow, even when I was working at an event downtown on the weekend at my old job. Stupid jeeps, with their four wheel drive and rugged capabilities. I said jeeps not geeps!
I am unlucky this month because:
I never used sick leave at my last job. I never get sick. I got a new job where I can't take paid sick leave for three months, and my insurance doesn't kick in for 30 days. I was sick for three days (Sunday-Tuesday) this week. I couldn't even keep water down. I was hungry Saturday night and then not again until Wednesday morning. I missed 13 hours of work and two really beautiful spring-like days. Oh, well, I am sure it could be worse.
I am asking for trouble because:
I am tempted to email my ex-boyfriend to ask him how he is. Tell me what a bad idea that is!
March 9, 2005
So with that, let me share the thing that made me laugh so hard I cried today. I was reading the recaplet from the other night’s American Idol on TwoP, and in it, the recapper started his summation of (fucking) Constantine with “Fucking Constantine frogging his lips out”. It’s just the perfect imagery for a perfect douche.
Okay, so Leslie has requested a classic Hench story. I’ma admit right here, I don’t have many “zany” Hench stories, as acting the fool was usually my job, she was just there to supervise…sooooooo. Let us drift back to the Spring of 1998…there was a frat party at that duplex all the way down the end of 42nd by Powhatan on the ODU side, and as per usual, the Hench was my chaueffer/chaperone/apologist. For some cockamamie reason we were not allowed to use the bathroom at said party, and for probably an even more cockamamie reason, I decided that I needed to ride in the back of Hench’s two-door car on the way back from a bathroom run. So we’re back at the party, and time to de-car, but I was not very successful. My legs got all caught up in the seatbelt, and I straight up fell out of the car. Hench was pre-occupied with something (more than likely Baxter) when she turned to say, “WHAT are you doing?” She said I matter-of-factly said “I’m getting out of the car. Help me.” As I was holding myself up on two hands, legs still trapped somewhere in the back of the piece (car).
I told you. No super-crazy Hench stories, just the sad truth that Hench can be one stone-cold mother and I am a total buffoon (no surprise there).
March 7, 2005
I used to think it was being supportive of their decisions even when it was something bad for them. Then I was told at some point that being a good friend meant telling them the truth even if it was mean or hurtful. I’m not really sure that’s it either. If they end up not talking to you because of ill advice, is it worth always telling the truth?
A few months ago I dipped out of event I promised I’d go to. I was all but dressed and ready, even was outside the location when I changed my mind. When questioned as to why I didn’t go, I told the truth and then was subsequently told, well about myself. It was a generic comment on how to fix my problems with a simple “you need to get over it.” I was angry for a long time (in Leslie time equals 2 weeks) but then realized the truth behind the comment. Do we just not like to hear the truth about ourselves?
I was wounded a few months ago when my co-worker told me I looked like a “wet dream” during job hours. Ick. I was within dress codes, and most found the outfit to be cute, but the fact was: after the comment was made I was unable to function securely in the outfit, without fidgeting continuously looking in the mirror and second guessing myself for the whole week. It’s equivalent is about when your mother says, “you know that skirt is looking a little tight!!” It’s just a little comment, but little enough to tap dance on your nerves.
Do we secretly pick fights with our friends to get them to tell us the truth about ourselves? Or have I forgotten how to be a good friend?