Christmas Kerfuffle

I feel the need to share my family antics because they make me giggle. And giggling is the best thing in the world.

So yesterday I was re-informed that my job is an asshole. They went ahead and canceled my vacation time because apparently I don't need it. So I was all set to be a little Christmas orphan and sit in my apartment with my wine and only Mr. Bing Crosby and my cats for company. But 'tis the season after all and my family has decided to bring Christmas to me!

Now I feel a little guilty because obviously they had the great Christmas dinner planned, complete with turkey and ham and a whole lot of mashed potatoes, but I'm not gonna lie; I quite pleased that my brothers are being forced into the cramped back seats of a car, loaded down with gifts, the dog and my parents' holiday cheer to drive four excruciatingly long hours --without halt-- just to bring ME Christmas-time love. Yes... we can all see who's the favoured child in this scenario.

So, while I was contemplating their agony, I called my mom, just to make sure plans were still good. It occurred to me that while the phone was ringing, that all I have in my fridge is a carton of milk, a soggy half of cucumber (Brianna's), some egg-nog (also Brianna's) and a few apples. So I get my mother on the phone, and after twenty minutes of her testing out all the features on her nifty new cordless phone, hanging up on my twice and getting stuck on speaker-phone I finally get to my point.

"You're didn't buy a turkey did you?" I ask, stupidly since I already know the answer.

"Yes. I did. But it's okay. I'm not going to bring it." Phew, dodged a bullet there.

"Well, what did you want to do for supper tonight? Because I'm young and broke and live off pasta and tea, which is all that I currently have in my cupboard."

"Oh well we can make pizza. Do you have flour?"

"...No."

"Hm, well... how about--"

"Mom, let me stop you there. I'll give you the inventory of my kitchen." Which I do, and which gives me a long silent response from my mom. Why are parents always so shocked when they find out you don't have enough food to make a rounded meal? Don't they remember being young? When all they needed to survive was a bottle of liquor and a Twinkie?

"Well, I bought a ham. So I'll bring that. You do have pots I can cook in right?"

"Yes mother. You bought them for me."

"Okay. Good."

"But if you try to cook a ham in them, in the oven, the plastic handles are going to melt."

"You don't have anything else?"

"I have a frying pan that I cooked a roast in once!"

"..... Forget it. We'll just order Chinese food."

"Okay! Oh yeah, I don't have a Christmas tree."

"What? How do you not have a tree? Where are we going to put our presents?"

"Well because I didn't really NEED one, and don't worry about it. I'll just tape one to the wall out of construction paper."

"... ... .... *sigh*"


What surprises me the most is that she's always shocked with my ridiculous ideas when SHE'S the one who raised me. Crazy.

Merry Holidays!

Sometimes I understand why men love cars.... Only sometimes

So this is the car. THE car that helps me get a glimpse into the male psyche.


The 1968 Ford Mustang Coupe Convertible.

Mmmm.

It physically makes me drool. The rest of the world becomes silent, cares disappear and saliva pools in my mouth because this car makes me unable to manage involuntary actions.

This car makes me want to tell the rest of the world to shut up and let me appreciate it's awesomeness in reverent silence.

It makes me understand why men love cars. It really does. This car is... an image of God. It's beautiful. It's... a 1968 Ford Mustang Coupe Convertible!

If I was presented a choice and had to make a decision between this car or the perfect man, without a minute of consideration I would choose this car. I could get everything I need from this car. EVERYTHING! Do you understand me people of the interwebz? Everything.

This car... everything... drool....

The End.

Blade and Twilight and TrueBlood, Oh my!

Vampires.

What is the sudden uproar about the undead? Why have the bloodsucking, pale, whiny R.Pat's suddenly become so insanely popular? And please for the love of all things garlicy and holy do not tell me that it is all because of the Twilight series because in all honesty... they sparkle, okay? SPARKLE!

So tell me how come all of a sudden Vampires have become something that bookstores can rationalize devoting a whole table and a sign to. Huh? How? Because this really blows my mind. Vampires have been around for ages, millennia if you choose to believe the tales but from where sprouts the insane ascent in popularity?

Now I for one understand the allure. I've been reading vampire novels for years. There is undoubtedly something enticing about living forever and being stunningly attractive. Even the unacceptably abhorrent requirement of drinking blood has a certain 'je ne sais quoi' about it. So I can understand the fascination and the honoured place vampires have held in the teenage-goth circles and such.

But I just can't wrap my head around this insanity that has sprung up around Edward Cullen and the Twilight series or the Vampire Diaries which have recently been turned in to a TV series, or TrueBlood another book-to-video cash cow. Charlaine Harris' novels were interesting and all, but I never really rooted for Bill. I'm much more partial to the were-people. I mean a) they're alive and b) they're always much more passionate characters.

Vampires have always held a certain fascination for me but if I was walking through the woods alone one day and a werewolf and a vampire popped out of the brush and said in eerie unison: "You have thirty seconds to select your fate; Eternal life, more or less as a human, or elongated life as half a beast." I know which one I'd pick and it wouldn't be cold or human.

Is that a little weird of me? Maybe, but I've never wanted to live forever. I mean it'd get boring after a while. It would've been more fun a while ago, being alive to see all the new inventions, the growing popularity of cars and technology, the new and emerging fashions, the protests, the political reforms, that all would've been awesome to live through. I suppose even now it'd be interesting enough to live a couple hundred years just to see what happens but I'd never want to live forever. I'd get bored and even more cynical about the human race than I already am. I would much prefer to live a long life and run around half the time as an animal just goofing off and digging holes and howling and such like. SO much more fun than sitting around all maudlin and getting increasingly cynical and hopeless as you watch the plight of the human species. Plus.... I wouldn't sparkle.

Seriously? Sparkling? How is that in any way attractive? "Hey! You look like an art project done by kindergartener who had one too many mouthfuls of paste! I'm terrified!" Which brings me back to the question at hand: Why are vampires so popular?

Is it because they're tortured and broody? I'll admit that's always attractive (at least in a man) but I'm not so sure I would want to spend a lifetime with tortured and broody. You're going to have to snap out of that eventually or you just get boring (again, back to the boring).

Is it because they're supernaturally attractive? How long would you be willing to put up with tortured and broody and cynical and probably repetitively annoying vampire-guy just for supernaturally good looks? And let's face it, the sex would probably be mediocre too.

So what is it about vampires that is making people... well okay women go all coo-coo for coco puffs over them? Seriously people, think about it. And once you've done that you'll see --once again-- that I'm right: Werewolves beat Vampires every time.

Because vampires are boring.

And sparkly....

Random graffitti. Most likely an ironic statement from a werewolf to a vampire.
Just to make sure you're STHUPER STHPARKLY for your dinner date!

Gossip Girl... Out the Eyeballs

Gossip Girl... so much Gossip Girl.

I've been catching up on my GG and I must say, it's disgustingly addictive. Like all I want to do is move to NYC and just run around and crash parties at The Palace and go to the Hamptons. Is that completely irrational of me? Just jet off and be all crazy and fashionable and be in the Style pages of the New York Times.

It's just plain addictive. I really wish that I had nothing more to worry about than the latest fashion scandal, or the which hot club to hit in the evening, or who to wine and dine for Sunday brunch. Really, if my life was that carefree I'd be running around finding things to be outraged about. Making mountains out of molehills and all such jazz.

So... that's it. I'm going to NYC and I'm going to marry in to new Upper East Side money and get to run around and be on Gossip Girl and you know... the real gossip blogs like.... Perez? Dear god I hate Perez. I wish I could be the new Perez. It can't be that hard right? I mean all I have to do is jet down to Hollywood with a camera take a few pictures, make a few obvious and redundant comments and then post it on the internet. Right?

Okay so new plan! I'ma be the next Perez! Or maybe I'll just skip that step and become a supastar or a supahero! Yep. Supahero-dom here I come! Wheeooo!!


xo xo
Ridiculousness

Seriously? Like... for cereal?

Okay, so I was just browsing around, chatting to some friends, playing some pointless internet games and I came upon this, sent to me by one of my friends:

Like seriously!?!?!

This is an actual pair of pantyhose that are for sale from a certain vendor who's name I won't say because I'm not sure if I'm allowed. But REALLY?! Like... for cereal?

How many people have actually bought these? I just don't understand I really don't.

One: If you love thongs so much why not just wear a thong and thigh high pantyhose? How do these make your life ANY easier? I mean - can you imagine how hard it would be to get in to these? I can just picture it. "Aw shit! I put my leg through the asshole again and now I've put a run in the leg! FCK!"

Can it really get any weirder? What in God's name would possess someone to spend $40.00 on these just to have their ass hang out? Don't we women have enough issues about our asses without feeling like we should be running about in ass-less pantyhose? And HOW in the name of everything holy are these supposed to make your ass look better in a skirt? Like really, take a good long gander at that model and then tell me if she looks a) comfortable or b) more attractive.

I DON'T UNDERSTAND!

I was talking to my roommate about it and I posed this question: "What would you say if someone you were with suddenly stripped off their clothes and were standing there in those?"
We both came up with this answer: "WHAT THE FCK ARE YOU WEARING!?!?!?!"
I'm sorry. But if I was a man and this model peeled off her sexy black dress and was left standing in her ass-less pantyhose I don't think I'd be able to stop laughing. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong here, but isn't it much more attractive to seductively peel off your thigh-highs with a sultry stare rather than hop around like a wounded, one-legged kangaroo cursing and having your ass jiggle like a fool?

No? I'm wrong? Yeah, that's what I thought. This is just ridiculous. Really? REALLY!? I'm completely flabbergasted. How about just getting a pair of leather chaps? At least they're supposed to be ass-less and are a little more sexy. Plus anyone looks good in leather.

Ass-less pantyhose... seriously?

Eff me senseless so I don't have to suffer this ridiculousness anymore.....






Thank you and goodnight.

My Life Is A Fuckin' Movie

The night I lost you
someone pointed me towards
the Five Stages of Grief.
Go that way, they said,
it's easy, like learning to climb
stairs after the amputation.
And so I climbed.
Denial was first.
I sat down at breakfast
carefully setting the table
for two. I passed you the toast-
you sat there. I passed
you the paper- you hid
behind it.

Anger seemed more familiar.
I burned the toast, snatched
the paper and read the headlines myself.
But they mentioned your departure,
and so I moved on to

Bargaining. What could I exchange
for you? The silence
after storms? My typing fingers?
Before I could decide, Depression
came puffing up, a poor relation
its suitcase tied together
with a string. In the suitcase
were bandages for the eyes
and bottles of sleep. I slid
all the way down the stairs
feeling nothing.

And all the time Hope
flashed on and off
in defective neon.
Hope was a signpost pointing
straight in the air.
Hope was my uncle's middle name,
he died of it.


After a year I am still climbing,
though my feet slip
on your stone face.
The treeline
has long since disappeared;
green i a colour
I have forgotten.


But now I see what I am climbing
towards: Acceptance
written in capital letters,
a special headline:
Acceptance,
its name in lights.
I struggle on,
waving and shouting.
Below, my whole life spreads its surf
all the landscapes I've ever known
or dreamed of. Below
a fish jumps: the pulse
in your neck.
Acceptance. I finally reach it.
But something is wrong.
Grief is a circular staircase.
I have lost you.

"The Five Stages of Grief"
-Linda Pastan




This is just a beautiful compilation of words. Whenever I read it the first time I get to the end and go "That's so sad, she's lost him and forgotten him," but then I pause and read it again and realize.... She didn't forget him in her climb, she lost him all over again.
The most common interpretation of this poem is death, but that's not all that this applies to. It applies to everything in life. Grief, in all it's facets is a part of everything.
If you think about it you're always in the process of losing something even if you're gaining something else.

So really, Grief is Life.

When you think too hard about things,

They cease to exist.

So I want to open a coffee shop.
The other day someone was trying to think up a name for me.
This is what he got:

Express Hole

Yeah... I know what you're thinking. It's one of two things.
"Yeah, that's got a nice ring to it..."
or
"Why, oh why, does that sound.... just... wrong!?"
I suppose there could also be a mixture of the two but believe me; it will slowly morph into being just the one. The 'wrong' one.
Because think about it. Read it again. Okay, now picture the font it might be written in. That doesn't really matter, we're just building an image here. Now say it out loud, slowly. Next, pop it into a hip sentence.
Example: "Yo man! We're off to Express Hole. You in?"
Now I know what some - or all - of you are thinking. That doesn't sound so bad. It's not even close to something as weird an awkward as perchance "Vomitrocious Coffee House". Because let's just face it- that's pretty freaking weird.
But isn't there just something about it that sounds... odd? It's not immediately noticeable but when you say it out loud and roll it around a little there's just something that gently knock on the door in your head and says "Yeah, hi... You realize that the phrase you've been repeating for the last five minutes has severely scandalized the group of people over your left shoulder right? Oh you didn't? Well yeah... it did."

And then you're stuck trying to explain to a bunch of strangers that you weren't muttering the name of a forbidden sex move, or an evil spell under your breath but quite simply.......

"Oh just forget it."

I believe in time machines. I do. For real and for serious.

Why?

Because if time machines don't exist... well then... How did Charles Darwin find out about evolution? HUH? HOW?

Have you ever ran directly into a wall?

I don't mean a wall that you didn't know was there, like those glass ones that usually double as sliding doors. Definitely not what I mean. That's understandable. Those walls, doors whatever.... they're sneaky. Neither do I mean a gentle bump as you pass through a hallway.

No. What I mean is have you ever been in your living area (house, apartment, RV, whatever), a space that you're obviously comfortable and familiar with, and while on your way to the kitchen, for example, your body suddenly decides to take a detour and *BAM*. Suddenly the box of cookies you were thinking of jumps to the back of the line of things to think of. Behind the pain, behind the nausea caused by the pain, behind the curses you're making up as you go along, behind the blindness caused by the lights swirling behind your eyelids. Then, as you stare up at the ceiling, wondering how you ended up sprawled on the floor you realize... you're bleeding.

That is what I mean when I ask if you've ever ran directly into a wall.

For those of you who know what I'm talking about.: Good on you. For those of you who don't... keep a weather eye open. It's coming. And when it does... it's going to hurt.