Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Thoughts on the VMAs

as provided by watching the Beyonce and Adele clips on YouTube 24 hours after.

1.  BEYONCE WHAT THE HELL!   You gave me four key changes in exchange for not jostling your fetus and I was completely ok with it.  AND YOU HID YOUR LEGS and wore a terrible sequined jacket.  I still want to be you.  Only not pregnant, now that I think about it, and def not by Jay-Z.  His name sucks.  FINE OK I JUST WISH I WAS SEXY FLY LIKE YOU AND HAD BEEN A MEMBER OF DESTINY'S CHILD!!
2.  Adele killed it.  And she looked classy whilst killin' it.  That's the dream.
3.  Lady Gaga as a dude was HILARIOUS!  At least it wasn't a meat dress.  Every time I watch her I'm more and more convinced that she's completely insane.  Did she fall off the piano?
4.  Katy Perry needs a lobotomy ASAP.  What the hell was her costume supposed to be?  Askew toy building blocks?  If we gave her brain replacement surgery she would probably stop singing songs that romanticize rape, which I would also be more than fine with.

Friday, August 26, 2011

The Rage Monkey

Natural disasters are interesting on TV, but pretty weird when they actually happen to/around you.  "I WAS HERE DOING THIS!!!" everyone shrieks to anyone that will listen.  I was at my house, on my bed, switching banks, and I thought it was sorta neat but mostly I was relieved that nothing really happened.  Apparently we are supposed to fear the destruction that those things are capable of.

However two things happened that really pissed me off.  One, was the status of some idiot that I'm "friends" with on Facebook even though in reality I find her a ridiculous (and not in a fun way), thoughtless, and stupid human being.  "More quakes and shakes, please!  That was fun!"

.....am I to understand that you....want an actual earthquake?  That you are, in fact, REQUESTING the presence of the very ground beneath your feet to writhe in ways that can kill and maim thousands of people?  HOW STUPID ARE YOU!??!?!??!  It's SUCH A PITY that the damn thing didn't do the world a favor and remove you from it!!!!!!!!  Idiot.

That plus a visit with a tiresome dental hygienist has made me wary of impending Irene.  "OH DANG I GOT WET LIKE IN A THUNDERSTORM!!!!  IT WAS WINDY LIKE DURING A THUNDERSTORM TOOO!!!!!!"  Man am I going to look like an asshole if this thing turns into something other than just another summer storm.

Which brings me to the topic at hand.

What a curious creature is the Rage Monkey!   She strikes with no warning and disappears as quickly as she came.  The Rage Monkey is definitely a lady because she frequently opens for The Period Monster, who is known for her similar qualities at the onset, but finishes her destruction tour with loads of weeping and teary-eyed nonsense.

The Rage Monkey erupts from anywhere, shoving Rational Normal Non-Rageful Self from your brain with the force of a thousand men.  If RNNRS tries to make a feeble attempt to placate, the Rage Monkey flips out even more, gathering more steam as it destroys all sanity and happiness.

The Rage Monkey's powerful assets are stealth, failure to be logical, and perseverance.  This sneaky bitch creeps up on you, consumes you completely, beats the crap out of the ol' RNNRS, and stays just long enough that you'll have to spend the rest of your day undoing the damage the Rage Monkey has left in its wake.

Typically, something banal happens.  You read a predictably idiotic Facebook status, or Janice the Fart Faced Old Lady Horror opens her yap as she scrapes barnacles out of your mouth.  Only, instead of laughing or feigning deafness, you feel an incredible surge of anger.  Someone has just asked a harmless question or postulated pure moronic crap and your hormones have unleashed their monster.  Then suddenly EVERYTHING JUST MAKES YOU SO MAD AND THERE IS NOTHING ANYONE CAN DO ABOUT IT!!!!!!  Run away?!  NEVER!!!!!  COWARD!?!?!!  Stay and talk it out?!?!  WHO RATIONALIZES WITH THE IRRATIONAL RAGE MONKEY!??!?!

"I was at a restaurant and the floor just starting shaking!!!"  WHO CARES WHERE YOU WERE DURING THE HURRICANE, JANICE?!?!?!   (This poor old lady thinks that I'm meek and introverted because I resolutely refuse to encourage conversation with her as I don't have time in my days for two hour long dental appointments)  YOU STUPID COW JUST SHUT UP AND CLEAN MY TEETH!!!!!!!!!!!!!   DON'T ASK ME QUESTIONS, DON'T TELL ME STORIES ABOUT YOUR POOR BESOTTED HUSBAND!!!!!  JUST X-RAY MY JAW!!!  AND DID I MENTION I AM SWEATING UNDER THIS LEADEN BLANKET THAT YOU CLAIM WILL PROTECT ME FROM RADIATION!?!?!  WHAT ABOUT THE REST OF MY FACE?!?!?!  DID NO ONE TELL YOU THAT MY EYES ARE MY BEST FEATURE?!!?!?!  WHERE ARE MY PROTECTIVE GOGGLES!???!?!?!?!  AND THIS DAMN THING IS ITCHING MY NECK!!!!!



I left that office with no cavities and a guaranteed ticket to Hell's fiery gates.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

But I say/I got my best shoes on/I'm ready to go

I was scared to move last week, this week I'm ready.  I'm SO EXCITED for new things and the utter terror of a new city and being constantly lost and it's feeling near and hopeful and exhilarating!

In an ideal world I would be a gypsy nomad and have no possessions and no ties other than love and experiences.  Unfortunately, I'm rather attached to both my iPhone and my new brown boots.  I'm trying to get rid of lots of stuff.  "They're just things."  I'm sure I'll end up with loads of new ones.


Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Love letter to my mother

I never used to cry.  I think it's because I used to be so self-conscious and uncomfortable with vulnerability, but I'm making up for lost time now.  I just finished reading HP7, and I literally sobbed when I re-read Molly Weasley freaking out and dueling Bellatrix Lestrange.  We're talking screwed-up face, tears pouring down my face and neck into my clavicles, racking sobs, etc.

I talk a lot about how great my dad is, and I feel this seems to reflect that I don't also fawn all over my mother.  In fact, I am a petite version of my mother, so we love each other lots but we get along better when we don't see each other on a daily basis.  It should be stated that in college, I called her every single day.

My mother is very, very emotional.  My dad is too, but not like my mom.  He's rational and explain-y; my roommate Andi dubbed him "Atticus Finch" after I told a number of stories where he explained the world and how it works as straightforward as he could.  He's really adept at understanding other people and their ideas and believes all that matters in this life is doing right and standing by the people you love.  He's a genius at simplicity and I worship him for that insight.  Plus, he tells these charming stories from when I was a toddler with horrible asthma.  Also, when I would have nightmares, he would ALWAYS come in my room, no matter how late it was, how pathetic I was being, or how exhausted he was, and hug me until I calmed down enough to fall back asleep.  Dad was always the one that would coddle me, I never really fought with him.

My mother and I used to fight a lot.  We have the exact same hot temper that needs to be aired, and as quickly as it flares up, it's gone.  We have the same tendency to get incensed when we feel disrespected or disappointed by the ones we love.  We have the same habit of getting so angry that we burst into tears because we're just SO MAD that there's nothing else that our brain can do.  Then we feel the same remorse for our pull-no-punches approach.

The thing is though, my mother never, ever fought with me for any reason other than complete and utter adoration.  She thinks so highly of me that she would not condone when I would screw it all up and act like the moronic kid I generally was/am.  My mother is fortunate in that she is entirely emotional, the full range of 'em.  My brother and I always knew that we were loved above every other thing in this world or any other.  Even when we would scream at each other across the living room, apoplectic with rage for whatever thing I had fucked up.

Someone tells me that they love me every single day.  I'm not kidding; and these are the people who mean it and will never break up with me or never ditch me or cheat on me or do any intentional damage to me.  I hope loads of kids suspect that their parents would take a bullet for them or duel a Lestrange to keep them safe, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my mother would die for me.  That thought is both horrifying and comforting.  The thing that's reeeally crazy is the reciprocity built in, when you love people that deeply and they know it, they're bound by the same bonds of love.  To complete the nerd circle, my mom would have been a Gryffindor; she's the real life Lily Potter.

If you ever want me to cry (you'll perish, I should add) all you have to do is remind me of parents loving their kids.  I have cried at some of the most horrifically awful movies and books ("The Last Song" w/Greg Kinnear was hard to live down) against my very will because something I have never underestimated and always understood is the power of unconditional love.  So... thanks, Mom.  I love you.  Happy 50th Birthday.

PS- The people sitting at the bar last night could not get over how young you look, they thought you were forty and potentially some sort of child bride until I sorted it all out.  Love ya :)

Monday, August 22, 2011

Waiter Rant No. 2

Waiter:  Hi guys, how are you doing today?
**Spawn of Mrs. Douchebag and Mrs. Asshat howl, scream, kick, flail, beat their hands upon the table, shred the napkins that have only been on the table for mere seconds, and snot all over their booster seats.  Mrs. Douchebag and Mrs. Asshat are giggling and oblivious to the pandemonium ensuing around them**
Waiter:  I'll give you a second to sort out your snot machines.  Oh!  I'll give you guys a second!
Mrs. Douchebag:  Oh we're fine, we're fine, TRENTON STOP THAT!  **Trenton is biting her arm**
Waiter:  .....may I bring you something to drink?
Mrs. Douchebag:  Yes, yes, uhmmm.... Trenton, what would you like to drink?  I would like an ice tea and a waiter, please.  Trenton????  **Trenton, the little shit that he is, is chewing on the table, shrieking in rage.  He is four years old.**  Oh, let's just get him a soda.  WOULD YOU LIKE A SODA, Trenton??!!  **Trenton blows boogies all over his own shirt**  Oh, let's just get him a cream soda.  And a milkshake.  WOULD YOU LIKE A MILKSHAKE TRENTON!?   Yeah, let's get him a strawberry milkshake.
Waiter:  Yeah, this shithead should definitely have more sugar poured down his throat....  Okay m'am.
Mrs. Douchebag:  Ok, let's get her **pointing to her 2 year old daughter who is screaming so loudly that she's actually purple** a diet coke, Annie she's getting so chubby, isn't she?  **Mrs. Asshat eyes the little girl and then nods emphatically** and him  **dear Trenton's twin, named something moronic like Bentley** he'd like a cookies and cream milkshake and a grape juice.
Waiter:  Great...  Alright.  Anything for you, m'am?
**Mrs. Asshat says nothing and purses her lips as she peruses the menu.  Her spawn spit everywhere and then start beating each other with forks**
Mrs. Asshat:  I guess I'll have a Diet Coke and a water?  And a kids milk, an apple juice, and a water for him.
**Water designated child automatically stops thwacking his siblings to scream  "MOMMY I WANT A MILK SHAKE!!!!!!!!!"**
Mrs.  Asshat:  NO YOU CAN"T HAVE ONE
Mrs. Asshat:  FINE!  And a vanilla shake for him.
Waiter:  yeah, let's reward that kind of behavior  Mmmk m'am.
Mrs. Douchebag:  Ok and we'd like a large cheese pizza with the sauce on the side and the cheese on the side but could you hide some spinach in it?  Like, bake it into the dough?
Waiter:  what the fuck?!  I'll ask the kitchen, m'am, but I'm pretty sure they can work something out.
**Trenton and Co. are now competing to see who can blow a raspberry for the longest.  Inevitably, the children run out of breath and come back in, causing those who had carried on to scream "YOU CHEATED!!!" and began chasing the others about the restaurant.  The infant who (incredibly) had been sleeping through the previous mayhem now wakes up and joins the cacophony will ear piercing shrieks**
Mrs. Asshat:  Ok, and I would like to have the turkey rueben, but no sauce and no bread, and with fries.
Mrs. Douchebag:  Oh you are so bad!!!!  Fries?!?!!  Ok!!!  I'll have the chopped salad, but no cheese, no onions, no dressing, no bacon, and the tomatoes on the side.
Waiter:  **gets lost in thought watching the kids run up and down the floor screaming and hitting each other** Uhmmm... sorry!!!  Sure!  I'll be right back with your drinks.

The bill will rack up to be around $60 after all the brats have had their milkshakes and the moms will leave me $6.  This is, of course, after the spawns of Asshat and Douchebag have made mulch out of all the napkins given to them, ground Goldfish crackers into their booster seats and their own clothing, and caused three other tables to move out of my section because they leaned over into their space and screamed and screamed for no reason.  Mrs. Douchebag and Mrs. Asshat will eat their food in teensy bites, ignore their hell monsters, and sit for up to three hours while their banshees run wild disturbing the populous.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Sessy Times

I marched into Kate's room today (OK FINE TO WORK ON THE GINORMOUS FAIRY PUZZLE WE HAD BEEN ATTACKING) and she was collecting up laundry because she had no more underwear.  Unfortunately for me, this meant she was wearing her reserve lacy black undies and I was not prepared to see so much ass.  We walk around our house in t-shirts and underwear and sometimes slippers, but we try to keep it PG13.

So here's a list of some sessy stuff.

  • Smelling like soap.  It's pretty jarring if you spot a sessy man walkin' down the street or all up in the cluuuub and then you get a wiff of either sweat (foul.  Just because I don't bathe doesn't mean I condone your filth) or horrendous cologne.  Cologne is the worst.  It'll turn you off rull quick.  Who wants to make out with a dude who reeks of musk and pine trees (gin) and tobacco?  I'm in a cluuub, not in the forest hoping a lumberjack will fell me a tree and then rub it on himself.  Do you think they like, spritz it on their wrists and daub it behind their ears?  Or do they step into it?  Nancy boy.  Plus, I know I only wear perfume because my ass is stinky, I can only assume that's why you'd do it too.
  • Clean hands.  I do not want mangey paws on my sessy bod.  If you have grody, dirty hands then I'll be all dirty and shit too.  Gross.  Wash yo' hands, trim yo' nailz, and don't pick your nose.  I ask so little.
  • Being nice to/about your mom.  Note I did not say "be obsessed with your mom" or "continue to breast feed at the age of 28" because both of those are definitely not sessy.  However, being nice to your mom lets us ladies know that you are not a completely ungrateful and immature miscreant and thus if I were to let our genes grow to the size of say 8 pounds and let it come ripping out of a sensitive area of my body, our 8 pound meatball would probably not be a total douche.
  • Smiling.  I fucking hated Twilight.  Be fun!  Don't sulk, otherwise we would be forced to realize the only thing we have in common is that we don't like things; you don't like the world and I don't like you.  Plus smiling lets you show off your teeth and I am not dating anyone with dookie mouth.  Cain't be passing that on to younger generations.
  • Glasses.  Yup.  GLASSES ARE SESSY.  One, you appear smart (which is all I really need, not too many actual brains or I'll get flustered and feel the need to read the newspaper before we hang out and let's be real, I'm not going to catch up on any news that isn't on Facebook or the Daily Show) and two you seem anti-sticking crap in your eye.  Which means you probably aren't a drag queen.  Which means you are probably straight.  Which means I have a better shot of you being attracted to me.  Which means we could make out.  It also means that I'm allowed to bust out my goggles if I don't feel like sticking crap in MY eyes.  Tight.
  • Being kind.  Seriously.  Chivalry is dead so if you catch a glimpse of such a rare bird, you freak out.  I would make some sort of joke, but I can't think of any because I think kindness is rare and shouldn't be made fun of.... woof.
  • Cool facial hair.  Why, are you too absorbed in your art/science to shave?!  HOW PASSIONATE of you!!!!  If we had a baby and he was a boy baby he would have mad facial hair and the ladies would think he was a beast at age 12.  Plus the other boy babies turned adult males would fear him due to his straight masculinity.  Also, you were a boy baby turned boy adult and you are dripping with masculinity from your hair covered yet strong jawline.  mmmmmm

I can't think of sessy things anymore.  I typed mmmm and then I realize how I just want a doughnut but obviously that's luda because it's 3:30 AM and everyone knows that KK opens at 6.  I'd settle for a cookie but we're out downstairs.  DAMN ALL THE EATERS OF KEEBLER DELICIOUSNESS!!!!!  DAMN THEM ALL!!!!  Harris Teeter is open 24/7 but even I am not so gluttonous as to walk to Harris Teeter at 3:30 AM to buy cookies.  Mostly because it's not a freakin' doughnut.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

In Honor of Shark Week, I give you: Minnowed

Went out to the U Street corridor last night with some friends from college.  The last time I hung out with the majority of these people (nearly a year ago) I drank so much that I blacked out and cracked a front tooth on my parents door step and woke up in weird pajamas with a fat lip and a Top Five Worst hangover.

As I was not anxious to repeat that incident (although it's pretty funny now, especially because my tooth is still firmly in my gums) I only had two beers last night and was content with a persistent and enjoyable buzz.  I shook my booty as hard as I could to many suggestive songs; Top Booty-Shakin' Tunes for me right now would be Rowland/Guetta's "Commander" and DUH Rihanna's "S&M".  Local Sixteen obliged with all of these songs and more and by the time we actually got to the floor, which was the majority of the second story of an old row house, I spent the evening what Kate and I have dubbed "Minnowed".

Minnowed:  when the men around you have suddenly sensed your feminine presence. Maybe they smell your pheromones, maybe they hear girlish laughter, but they definitely see skirts moving and hair being tossed and thus they must move closer.  Instinct tells them that due to the influence of alcohol on both parties, mating could be a possibility and they circle their prey.  They care not for other predators in their midst, they hone in on their target.  They gesticulate with their pelvis, they flail their arms and bobble their heads up and down, they spill their precious alcoholic nectar on your rear end and shoes.  They move close enough to actually inspect their prey, throwing elbows at the predators.  WEEEEEEOOOOOO NOT UGLY!!!!!  Now they get even closer, they breathe on your neck and they put a hand on your back, or back side if you're unlucky, and then they screech in your ear as they try to wiggle their hips in the same rhythm as your own, "HEY UH YA WANNA DANCE?!"

Maybe it's that I am never allowed to deny requests at work.  Maybe it's that I know and love my friends and family so I rarely turn them down.  But in the presence of males with sweat pouring down their entire selves and beer stank on their breath, trying to gyrate in time with my reluctant body simply because I have breasts, I will not.  I will not and I enjoy the act of denying.  I will not succumb to their minnow tactics, I will not be coerced into dancing with an insanely tall rugby player (or the whole damn team, as it were last night) and I whip my hair as hard as I can into their faces and smirk "No".   It does not matter that with so many guys the height of pro-basketball players pressing up against me I feel that I'm in a rather claustrophobic forest.  ABSOLUTELY NOT!!!!

They are rarely embarrassed at their rejection.  Nor are they nonplussed at the rejection of those around them.  It's almost like they think "MY TURN SHE'S BEEN WAITING FOR MEEEEE!!!"  Frequently, they try and hang on anyway, but that's a real mistake because they end up with my elbow anywhere that seems vulnerable and I'm not particularly tall.

I don't really understand how dancing like that is supposed to be fun.  I mean, obviously a dude thinks he can just lean against a while and you'll shove your butt into their crouch and rub it around, but who wants to do that?  Who's self esteem is so low that they're going to get dressed up like a prostitute, act like a prostitute, but not not receive monetary compensation for their acts?

I like to jump around, generally as energetically as I can, scream along to the lyrics of good/ridiculous songs and whip my long hair, yes, back and forth.  Thanks, Willow Smith.  I like to jump up and down next to someone I think is fun and attractive.  I do not want to simulate sex on the dance floor while wearing small clothes in front of my friends.

You know what's not sexy?  Having someone pour beer down your new fun dress and then scream in your face that you're "hot" while they grope around for your sex organs.  I have parents, and they taught me that I am not meat.  Also, being called "hot" when you're sweating the contents of a bottle of liquor is not so much a compliment as an observation of the state of affairs.  You should really take off that goddamn polo shirt and those idiotic boat shoes (ARE WE ON A BOAT??!?!!  THIS PARTY COULD BE SO MUCH MORE TERRIFYING IF THERE'S NO WAY TO ESCAPE YOU OTHER THAN LEAPING INTO THE GARBAGE FILLED DEPTHS OF THE POTOMAC!!!) and present yourself as something other than a frat boy bitch that's going to give me some sort of shitty rash.

However, never be naked.  That would be worse.

Friday, August 5, 2011

Since I Can't Go to Hogwarts

I'm moving to New York City instead.

Er...I mean, The City.  I'm not going to fit in and I don't really care that much.  I'm scared.

New Yorkers (according to movies and my limited experiences) fall into one of two categories:  Hipster Shithead that I want to simultaneously kiss on the mouth and punch in the stomach, or Super Rich Gucci Prada Anorexic Model that society tells me I want to look like, but really I just wonder when the last time that emaciated "woman" thing ate pasta.  And also I just a leeetle bit want to look like her.

Hipster Shithead:

  • wears loads of plaid 
  • smokes loads of cigarettes
  • has cool sunglasses that don't make his/her eyebrows look like caterpillars peering over plastic squares
  • drinks drinks with names like Lonely Island (ok, I keep You-tubing the one where they do each other's moms) or Moody Southerner or something
  • eats organic and vegan and only white food and supplies this by going dumpster diving
  • listens to bands no one has ever heard of with depressing ass lyrics
  • has sleeves
  • and lots of other sweet tats
  • sticks their hair up like when you played with shampoo in the bath as a kid 
  • reads books that talk about being alive and what it all means and Plato was a genius and you're boring so shut UP can't we talk about Harry Potter and Arrested Development and things that are mainstream because that are awesome?
  • bitch about the government and how we should save trees but then go back to their Macbooks and forget whatever cause they campaigned for
  • are rich but buy things that are expensive but look like crap.  like the maker made a nice thing, then painted it and scraped half the paint off and let a puppy teeth on it and then decided puppy saliva is really valuable so now this dumb dresser wardrobe is $4,000 please.  Payable to Anthropologie
Rich Skeletor Model Alien:
  • wears labels of stores that would not let me breathe in them
  • parties with celebrities/athletes that are famous for making sex tapes, starting hand bag lines, or being on the Disney channel when they were 8
  • wears shoes that prevents her from running away/could bludgeon attackers to a grisly death
  • drinks alcohol out of thimbles because otherwise they would get poisoned and start convulsing on the dirty hobo pissed on streets
  • has a vacuum that sucks the poo right out of their butts so they can look four pounds light for a few hours at a premier of whatever
  • don't eat food
  • reads magazines about dieting and nail polish and how hard it is to have lots and lots and lots of money and where to vacation this time of year when you just have TOO MUCH MONEY and oh here's an article about how some people are poor and isn't it eye opening?  NO AND DON'T YOU NOTICE THAT STARVING PEOPLE LOOK LIKE THESE SCARY ASS ALIEN MODELS?!
  • poops money
  • spends time in the morning doing things like curling eyelashes and using a blow dryer and applying salves and things that make you smell like sex and tobacco mated with flowers and the ocean
  • poops money some more
Whereas I am just a Nerdy Disgusting Psychotic Moron.  I:
  • go for weeks (yes, occasionally more than one) without washing my hair.  and it doesn't look cool and tousled, it looks dirty and like an animal nested and then died in its nest.
  • cry watching Steve Carrell in Dan in Real Life because I love watching parents adore their children even if it's just a movie
  • watch the Jon Stewart show and pretend that I am up to date on current events
  • declare I won't eat carbs but only last about two hours because I really need to eat Cheez Its and Oreos and doughnuts or I'll die
  • occasionally get really nervous Wormtail is going to tie me to a grave stone and make me watch Voldemort rise and then have to fight him to get back to Ron and Hermione and Sirius
  • watch So You Think You Can Dance clips for HOURS and realize that I really should have taken dance lessons as a child so I won't be so woefully awkward in my own body 
  • am afraid of pigeons and seagulls
  • get grouchy and heinous when I feel that the makers of my sandwich PURPOSEFULLY WITHHELD garlic mayo and cheese
  • wear skirts that are stretchy if I'm going out to dinner to a place that I really like so I'll be able to accommodate my food baby
Watch out, The City.  Bacon's coming up and she's gonna... not hang out with you!!!