Saturday, November 10, 2007

Everyday, Everyday

This committing to blogging every day in November thing is already tough, and we're only in the first day of double digits. So I'm doing one of those tag things that I usually delete. Enjoy.

* Are you taller than your mother?
Yep. 5'7. She's around 5'2 or 5'3 -- I think.

* What color is your car?
It says silver, but I think it's more of light purple/gray.

* If you instantly become qualified for any profession, what would you do?
2.Lead guitarist in a glam rock band.
3.American Gladiator.

* What is your ring-tone?
The Verizon standard.

* Is there an animal that creeps you out?
Most things that live outside, although the rats that were living in our basement (i.e. The Rat Palace) were quite creepy.

* The last person you rode an elevator with?
Some randoms at work.

* Did you go ice skating as a kid?
Mennan Arena represent!

* Last person you had an argument with.
Probably YG. I claim it was a political disagreement. He claims it was a fight. :-)
And I argue with lots of people at work. Because I am either a bitch or smart, depending on your frame of reference.

* Ever have stitches?
Yep. I've had numerous goodies removed from my back.

* Favorite non alcoholic drink?
Diet Coke is the sweet nectar of the gods.

* How long ago did you kiss someone?
About five minutes ago.

* Ever caught something on fire?
I don't think so. The first thing that popped into my head was this girl in my middle school who caught her hair on fire with a Bunsen burner in science class. Even then I was an asshole because I suppressed a giggle while everyone else freaked out.

* Ever seen the northern lights?

* Would you be a surrogate mother, carry a baby for someone else?
I don't think I could handle it.

* Ever been in a fight?
Two. I won. One was at a Phish show. Fuckin' hippies.

* Wearing nail polish?
Nope. Hardly ever.

* Innie or outie?

* Ever used a Ouija board?
At sleepovers when I was a kid. They freak me out.

* Sweet or sour?

* Sun or Moon?

* What shoes did you wear today?
Slippers. Running shoes.

* Favorite eye color of the opposite sex?

* Most important quality in a relationship.
Trust. Loyalty. Ability to withstand my crazy.

* Nap today?

* Time of day that you were born?
I don't remember. Will have to ask my mom.

* Do you know your blood type?
Not a clue.

* Name something annoying about public transit?
The fact that some people interpret public transit to mean public bathroom. Do not pee on the T!

* Did you grow up in a city or in the country?
Burbs all the way.

* Consider going on a reality show for a large amount of money?
Probably not.

* Flown in your dreams?

* Whats the weirdest thing you've ever eaten?
I'm a picky eater. Boar.

* Hugs or kisses?

* What was the best night out of your life? Lurid details please!
The date that wasn't a date.

* Whats your favourite item of clothing?
Flannel pajamas. Gray wool skirt.

* What form of dancing are you best (or worse) at?
The phrase "white people dancing" applies.

* Would you at any time of your life have done playboy for a million?
Totally. I've got way too many body hang ups. If someone wants to plaster my naked ass on a magazine spread, I'll take him or her up on it.

* Gold or silver?

* If you joined the circus, what would you be?

* Do you have a criminal record?
Clean as a whistle.

* What item of make-up can you not live with out?

* Slurpee flavor?
Cherry Coke all the way.

Friday, November 09, 2007

Class Assignment: Piece of Music

The assignment was to write a short, 1000-word story about a piece of music that meant something to you. Here's what I didd.

Birds and Ships

Who knew wood paneling could be so romantic? This was one of the many thoughts racing through my head as I attempted to get warm under the threadbare, scratchy blanket. Who knew that I, ever a cynic, could even process the thought of romance in a way that wasn’t bitter or sarcastic? But I was feeling warm and glowing. Isn’t that how romance is defined in those kinds of girl-meets-boy-and-falls-in-love movies? How did I get here?

* * * * *

My friend who wasn’t a friend, but wasn’t quite yet a boyfriend was located in Massachusetts. I was living in New Jersey. And we were both tired of driving 250 miles for “date night.” After some discussion, we agreed that a mid-point somewhere in Connecticut, and preferably cheap and cheesy where we would play characters in a steamy romance novel, would be best. I found the Milford Motel the way all sexy romance characters find their motels – by Googling “I-95” and “cheesy motel” and “wood paneling.” The Milford was the first hit, and given that it came with a black and white print out coupon advertising a $49.99 rate per night, it won out over less favorable locations.

After battling traffic on I-95 and I-91 respectively, we arrived at The Milford, conveniently located right off the exit from the interstate, a gem tucked in between a Pilot AutoCenter, a Wendy’s, Dunkin Donuts and a Penthouse Playmates “boutique.” We were greeted by a mangy grey and white cat seated on a cracked vinyl chair in the inappropriately named reception area. A surly “host” behind bullet-proof glass handed us two faded towels and the giant key to Room 131 where my friend, a son of a Boston cop, informed me that the dents in the door could have only been made by a cops’ baton during some sort of raid.

Inside wasn’t much better. One light hung over a busted table with two faded chairs, and the bed, barely larger than a twin, had a scratched formica headboard, two deflated pillows, one flat sheet and a bedspread that looked eerily similar to one my parents had donated to Goodwill in 1980. My friend and I looked at each other, and immediately burst out laughing. We threw our provisions – iPod, beer, and candy – on the table and headed out for our planned date of Mexican food and bowling.

At El Torrero, Milford, CT’s home of the one-liter margarita, we wolfed down tequila, indulged on empanadas and fajitas, and discussed all the reasons why our previous marriages had failed. I was still smarting from my failure to succeed, and he was still trying to adjust to a life that didn’t include seeing his daughter everyday. The weight of our combined baggage should have dampened the evening, but laughed and talked long after our plates were cleared.

“Did you bring it,” I asked.

“Your playlist? I uploaded the songs last night.”

“Did you listen to any of them?”

“Some. On the way down.”


I held my breath. I have a complicated relationship with my playlists, and am constantly revising the soundtrack to my life, depending on my moods. As a “mix-tape junkie,” when I make a mix for someone, I spend hours pouring through my music library, selecting only songs that mean something to me and tell the story of the mix-receiver and I. The final playlist I had presented to my friend had been revised six times after deliberate and methodical consideration and included a careful selection of songs that didn’t mention anything about dating, or worse, being a boyfriend. They were all “getting to know you” or “missing you” songs with a few classics thrown in for good measure – if asked, I could always say they were representations of a certain time in musical history.

“I loved it, he said. “Especially ‘Birds and Ships’”

“Oh, I love that one too. It’s a Woody Guthrie song. Wilco and Billy Bragg recorded it for a collection they did of his previously unreleased stuff.”

“That line, “Where might my lonesome lover be,” he paused, and looked at me.

“Yeah.” I could feel myself reddening and looked away, swigging happily on my tequila.

We sat in silence for a bit longer, making eye contact every once in a while, blushing and glowing, before heading back to the motel.

On the rock-hard, scratchy bed, we lay side by side, headphones on, listening to my playlist. Earlier in our not-quite relationship, we had discovered how well we slept together, how our various limbs fit together like puzzle pieces, and I rolled over onto my side, letting him spoon me. Bob Dylan sang about leaving me lonesome when I go, and a cover of The Beatles “Don’t Let Me Down” rang softly in our ears. At “I’m in love for the first time, this time it’s going to last,” I smiled and grasped his hand, while he snuggled in closer. And then “Birds and Ships.”

I stared at the wood paneling, feeling like I was having some sort of out of body experience. I was deeply drunk, and the room rocked slowly as my thoughts fired away in rapid, cannon-fire progression, carefully cataloging my good luck, followed by “this is crazy” followed by “what’s next” and then “I am probably going to fuck this up too.” I have always wanted to turn my brain off for just five minutes, if only to appreciate the silences in moments like these.

“Where might my lonesome lover be?” came through the headphones.

I realized that the back of my neck was wet, and I reached up to touch my friend’s face, wiping away his very quiet tears. My inner monologue finally shut up.

“I am glad I’m here,” I said quietly, into the darkness, still staring at the walls.

“Me too.”

I rolled over and buried my face into his warm neck, where I’m told I fell asleep.

* * * * *

We are sitting on the couch. I’m folding laundry and he’s checking the weather on his Blackberry. His daughter is asleep for the night. On the table are various notes about DJs and photographers.

“If I book this guy,” he says, “he just shows up with his speakers and hooks up the iPod. You can do the playlists, right?”

“Ha! Can I do the playlists?” I snort.

He smiles and hits me with a renegade sock.

“Birds and Ships?”

“Of course.”

# # #

The lyrics

"Birds And Ships"

The birds are singing
In your eyes today
Sweet flowers blossom in your smile

The wind and sun
Are in the words you say
Where might your lonesome lover be?

Birds may be singing
In my eyes this day
Sweet flowers blossom when I smile

But my soul is stormy
And my heart blows wild
My sweetheart rides a ship on the sea

Though my soul is stormy
And my heart blows wild
Where might my lonesome lover be?

Thursday, November 08, 2007

If You Live in Denver, Throw Donuts at This Douchebag

The ladies over at Big Fat Deal were the first to alert me about the Antigym Guy who has a gym to save the "chubbies." I had a rant and rave and then kind of forgot about him, until I saw this article on Feministing about a new ad that he's running. An ad that actually ran on Fox TV.

Per Feministing:

"The commercial starts with a woman sitting on her couch watching television. The TV shows a news report of a not-model-skinny woman about to kill herself by jumping off a bridge. A young woman in the news report screams, "Oh my god! She's going to start a tidal wave!"

It cuts back to the woman on the couch who hears her husband come home. ("Honey, I'm home!") But as the woman runs up to her hubby, a skinny porntastic looking woman pushes her aside, takes her man and starts making out with him. They leave together, and the dog follows.

Enter Karolchyk, who busts through the woman's refrigerator, wearing a shirt that says "No Chubbies," screaming: "Look at you! Moo! Moo! You're never going to have a hubby if you're a chubby! So forsake the cake!" (He pushes the woman on the couch, crying.) As the scene fades to the gym info, Karolchyk says, "Pathetic! No chubbies!"

If you're not disgusted yet, check out his definition of a bearded lady.

I would love to pelt this guy with donuts and fried chicken. Or get him a "Premature Ejaculator" t-shirt to go with his "No Chubbies" one. Idiot.


In other news, it's National Blog Writing Month so I am attempting to post everyday. I have a bunch of stories from my class that I want to put up and enough people to hate on to take up the rest of the month. I promised the same this last year, but this time....

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Bad Parenting

YG is on a golf trip so I dropped the MG off at school today. The 50-minute drive out wasn't that bad, and I wasn't even late -- woo hoo! Personal victory! As I got her out of the car, the curmudgeonly school traffic guard muttered something beneath his breath, but the MG informed me to just ignore him because "he's mean." I dropped her off, and when I returned to my car, he was waiting for me.

Him: Excuse me, ma'am -- YOU NEED TO FOLLOW POLICY. We have a policy here of walking BEHIND the parked school buses, not inbetween.

Me: Oh, okay, thanks. I'm sorry. This is only my second time dropping her off.

Him: You're sorry? That's all you're going to say about endangering the life of a child.

My Inner Monologue: Supress urge to be sarcastic. Supress urge to be sarcastic. Stop. Stop Stop.

Me (in reality): Um......yeah. Sorry. It won't happen again.

Him: It Better Not.


I gotta go sell crystal meth to some kids now.