God, Hillary, Just Shut The Fuck Up

There was no way in hell that I was ever going to vote for Clinton anyway, but this is so pathetic.

Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton's campaign has used words attributed to Sen. Barack Obama from when he was a kindergartner -- and from when he was in third grade -- to accuse him of "rewriting history" when he says he hasn't been planning for a long time to run for president.

And

Responding to the creation of Obama's Hillary Attacks website, Clinton campaign spokesman Phil Singer e-mailed us to say that "it's rather disingenuous of Senator Obama to complain about questions being raised about his record -– which remains unknown to voters –- considering that he has spent the last three months impugning Senator Clinton's character. When it comes to changing our politics, Senator Obama talks a good game but clearly lacks the courage of his convictions."

More here.

As a PR person, this shit drives me absolutely nuts. THINK about how this is going to play out. TEST it on real people. You just look pathetic, and even if you are, it's the PR staff's job to help you look less so.

Conspicous Consumption Saves The Day

I was ready to file today under "Sucks The Bag." I had some drama at work around something that somebody else should have paid for but didn't, and now I am expected to pull large sums of money out of my ass. It put me in a foul mood and made me question my career (again) and made me nostalgic for the old days when I had the money and power I felt guilty about having. And it's cold and blah. I just wanted to get home and change into something with an elastic waist and watch Project Runway.

But then I came home and the magical healing powers of shoes helped save the day. Or I should say, the magical healing power of these $275 Charles David beauties on sale on Amazon for $66.

Behold!



You are allowed to question the practicality of a peep-toe eyelet pump in the winter. In Massachusetts. But then I will stab you.

After this, we went to Mr. Crepe for dinner and potato soup and tons more sex-ed questions from the MG. She wanted to know if she had to get married when she grew up, and we told her that she didn't have to -- that you don't need to get married and you don't need to have kids. You can do whatever you want. The "no kids" thing sparked, "and then no penis in the vagina?" "Because you get pregnant when you put a penis in the vagina." We explained that you could still put a penis in the vagina and not get pregnant, which prompted, "kill the baby?" Followed by YG using some amazing hand gestures and trying to demonstrate how a "baggie" on the penis keeps sperm from getting into the vagina. And then we went back to talking Hannah Montana. Good times.

Must Read: The Fantasy of Being Thin

I read this post, The Fantasy of Being Thin, over on Kate Harding's site today, while I was sitting at my desk, eating my lunch at work. I actually cried a little just because the whole post, and the comments, were so spot on. You really should read the whole thing, but I'm cutting and pasting the bit that hit me the hardest.

"Overcoming The Fantasy of Being Thin might be the hardest part of making it all the way into fat acceptance-land. And that might just be why I’d pushed that part of the process out of my memory: it fucking sucked. Because I didn’t just have to accept the size of my thighs; I had to accept who I am, rather than continuing to wait until I magically became the person I’d always imagined being. Ouch.

That is, of course, a pretty normal part of getting older. You start to realize that yeah, this actually is it, and although you can still try enough new things to keep anyone busy for two lifetimes, you’re pretty much stuck with a basic context. There are skills, experiences, and material things you will almost certainly never have, period. It’s a challenge for all of us to understand that accepting this fact of life does not necessarily mean cutting off options or giving up dreams, but simply — as in the proverbial story about the creation of the David — chipping away all that is not you. But for a fat person, it can be even harder, because so many fucking sources encourage us to believe that inside every one of us is “a thin person waiting to get out” — and that thin person is SO MUCH COOLER.

The reality is, I will never be the kind of person who thinks roughing it in Tibet sounds like a hoot; give me a decent hotel in London any day. I will probably never learn to waterski well, or snow ski at all, or do a back handspring. I can be outgoing and charismatic in small doses, but I will always then need time to recharge my batteries with the dogs and a good book; I’ll never be someone with a chock-full social calendar, because I would find that unbearably exhausting. (And no matter how well I’ve learned to fake it — and thus how much this surprises some people who know me — new social situations will most likely always intimidate the crap out of me.) I might learn to speak one foreign language fluently over the course of my life, but probably not five. I will never publish a novel until I finish writing one. I will always have to be aware of my natural tendency toward depression and might always have to medicate it. Smart money says I am never going to chuck city life to buy an alpaca farm or start a new career as a river guide. And my chances of marrying George Clooney are very, very slim.

None of that is because I’m fat. It’s because I’m me.

But when I was invested in The Fantasy of Being Thin, I really believed that changing this one “simple” (ha!) thing would unlock a whole new identity — this totally fabulous, free-spirited, try-anything-once kind of chick who was effortlessly a magnet for interesting people and experiences. "

Sigh. I still believe that someday I am going to be SO FUCKING COOL. Thin and cool, or fat and cool, but cool nonetheless. When I get that [insert whatever it is that I need right now -- job, shoes, weight], I'm going to be so goddamn cool, you're totally going to dye your hair red, buy a pair of green glasses, and Single White Female me.

Back To The Grind and Other Things

Made it back to The People's Republic with little fanfare. Leaving early was the right thing today and gave me enough time to mentally adjust to the fact that I have to work -- FIVE DAYS IN A ROW -- this week.

The long weekend was fantastic. I didn't read enough, write enough, blog enough, do enough, etc. but I think that's what I needed -- a nice weekend of visits and eating and baby gazing and not doing much of anything. I got back to work yesterday and back to my regular workout/running routine today.

Now I have a list of hundreds of things to do in the next month including:

* Christmas shopping
* Registering for classes
* Holiday hoo hah (tree and whatnot)
* Grocery shopping and bill paying and the mundane
* Writing pretentious Christmas letter and making out cards
* Wedding stuff
-- finding florist
-- finishing playlists
-- finishing guest list
-- invitations
-- figuring how to pay for all this

Should be a busy month or so.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The whole daily posting thing did not work out, as expected, but I did take a few days to try and get better. I'm still stuffy and gross, so I bagged the 5K this morning and am trying to practice being grateful rather than feeling guilty.

The drive down went fine. Instead of waiting until Wednesday, I worked from home on Tuesday, had some dinner with YG and the MG at Mr.Crepe, and then took off around 7. I hit virtually no traffic and the entertainment of The Nanny Diaries for the duration of the ride. Cheesy schlock, but interesting enough when you're tired, and sick, and have a four-hour drive ahead of you.

Yesterday, I worked from here and caught up on all those nagging work things that I usually let go until someone needs them. I listened to my mother read the directions for the coffee pot OUT LOUD for an hour. It was a slow day, so I logged off around 4 and gave myself two hours to wander the aisles of Century 21, getting in my last shopping trip before the hell that is "holiday shopping season."

But a strange thing happened. I kept trying on shoes and bringing more and more things to the dressing room, and I liked what I saw, but not enough to buy anything. This is like a shock to my system. I LOVE shopping. I LOVE buying. I LOVE consuming, like the good American capitalist I am. Or at least I did. But I don't NEED anything. I have plenty of shoes, pretty sweaters, dresses (although, I am slightly regretting not nabbing the Diane von Furstenburg wrap dress with the yellow flowers), pants -- I don't need anything. Really. And if I don't need it, why buy it? I have everything I want.

And that leads me to Thanksgiving.

It's so easy to focus on the negative. I am, after all, an eternal pessimist, or to be more realistic, I am always pessimistic about ME -- thinking I should do more, be more, make more, say more, share more, give more, more, more, more, more. I still haven't mastered or even begun to truly accept, "progress, not perfection." There are plenty of things I want to "fix" -- my career, my health, my solitariness. But not today.

Today, I am going to be thankful for:
* Me. I am not that bad, all the time.
* My health. I've made it this far without any major issues. I am not as fat or unhealthy as my shitty committe thinks I am.
* My family. Both of them. YG and the MG up in Cambridge. The orignal cast here in NJ.
* My friends. The in-the-flesh ones and the email buddies and what my mom refers to as my "friends from the Internet."
* My cats.
* The ability to understand that I've "unstuck" myself before, and I can do it again.
* Our new church.
* Good books and good music and good food.

Today, I'm going to go for a walk, eat approximately 3 pounds of mashed potatoes with gravy, and read. A perfect day.

Happy Thanksgiving all!

Weekend Observations

Still sick, but slightly less miserable. After keeping YG up for the past few nights -- and with the cough medicine with codeine in it not even working -- I finally sucked it up (or YG forced me) and went to my doctor's "urgent care" office over the weekend. I have a sinus infection, and am now on my second round of antibiotics in three weeks. Fantastic. Who doesn't love a yeast infection?

Despite all this, we managed to have a pretty decent weekend.

* The MG asked YG, "where do babies come from?" so he bought her a book. She said, "why can't you just tell me?" Him: "We need a book." So now we have It's So Amazing!: A Book about Eggs, Sperm, Birth, Babies, and Families. This pretty much covers everything from your regular old baby making to spank banks and bean flicking to homos to abortions to IVF to AIDS. With cartoons.

Some times I feel like it was a great gift to grow up nice and Catholic and repressed because I didn't have to sit and read picture books with my parents about nut sacks. I am trying *very* hard to be straight faced and open, but it's really hard not to either burst out laughing or run and hide and die inside when you get questions like:
* Have you ever seen an erection? What is it like? Does it really stick out like that? [this in response to the cartoon boner]
* Why does it say that the stuff is milky? Can you drink it?

SERIOUSLY! My god.

That being said, it's sort of interesting to read through it with her and YG and see her just take everything in. Kids are such a product of their environment -- you only turn into an ignorant bigoted douchebag if you're taught to be one.

And speaking of, I love this dude in the Amazon comments. "Overall, a good informative book, however there is one page that describes homosexual attraction as something natural, just like heterosexuality. This is a dangerous lie that is too prevalent in our culture. It is offensive to God because it perverts his beautiful design and ruins his wonderful gift to each of us. It is not only wrong, but totally inappropriate for any age. The rest of the book is great. Too bad I couldn't tear out that one bad page without eliminating the other side, which was worthwhile. Because of this, I would NOT recommend this book!"
The gays! They are taking over! They are so PREVALENT! They are ruining my "beautiful gift." But the rest of the book? About nut sacks and tits? Totally A-OK.


* We had another fantastic dinner at The Blue Room. Yummy pork and shrimp and champagne. AND sleeping in the next day. Nice.

* We bought new pants for the MG and I started some of my Christmas shopping. I remembered how much I hate the mall and humanity at "holiday" time, when some lady on line behind us in Macy's picked a fight, saying that I cut her kid in line. When I said that I had been standing there for 15 minutes, she got all hands up and actually used "relax." We had a brief exchange, but I let it go because I had the MG and I'm still trying to convince YG that I am fit to be around children. Lady, however, kept doing that passive-agressive whisper thing, talking to her kid about how "SOME PEOPLE" are so rude and obnoxious and blah, blah, blah. I whispered to YG, while looking right at her, "I'm ready to fucking punch this bitch." Horray -- the Son of God is born. Peace on Earth. Goodwill!

* Cheesecake Factory. I know that liking my mall cheesecake means I'm only a few years away from wearing elastic-waist pants and a wolf sweatshirt, and a scrunchy in my hairsprayed hair. However, that shit tastes divine.

* Six months after moving in, we finally hung our curtains.

* I saw a cab today with a Nixon/Agnew bumper sticker on it.

* Pho Lunch.

* More for the "I hate Humanity" file. I had a wax appointment in Boston today, so I left YG and the MG in Harvard and took the T in. The red line was down between Kendall and Park, so I ended up having to take one of the shuttle buses. I had bumped off the first two because of overcrowding, but squeezed onto the third one by pretty much hanging off the strap by my pinky. I had my hat, bag, book and other stuff in my left hand, about 30 people pressed up against me, AND ended up with one of my hacking-up-a-lung coughing jags, trying my absolute best to cough into my jacket and not infest the whole bus. This bitchy little hozzle, with her straight-ironed hair and stupid Ugg boots, gave me the stink eye and snotted, "Ughhh. How about you try covering your mouth?"

This, dear readers, is when I have a choice to apologize and let go of the strap (the only fucking thing holding me up) and be a nice human being who just went to church and had a nice communion. OR I could be the bitch who was sick, and sick and tired of being jostled, and sick and tired of being sick, and sick and tired of these rich, shitty, bratty college kids. So I chose to look right back at her, and mimic her cadence and delivery, and snotted back, "How about I beat your ass?" This was not what she was expecting, and like all those snotty rich bitches, she knew that she most definitely would get her ass beat in a fight. So she and her look-alike hozzley friends started to slowly back away and stared at the floor.

Very mature. 31 years old. Taking names, and kicking ass.

The trip back took almost an hour and a half (usually about 30 minutes), was just as crowded, and I had a small human spill hot chocolate on me. Good times.

* Short week this week. I haven't been back to work since Thursday, and am hoping, kind of, that I still have a job.

Sick

I missed two days of blogging because I've been holed up in my house, sick yet again. I attempted to go to work on Thursday, and that was a very bad idea. I felt like my head was going to explode and just sat in my cube wimpering -- a total waste of a good outfit. Went home and went right to bed, but I couldn't sleep because I was coughing and too stuffy. You would not BELIEVE the shit that I'm coughing up.

Normally, I'd be all excited about almost a week's worth of working at home, but I'm just kind of sad and whiny.

And of course, self-blaming because:
* If I took better care of myself, I wouldn't be sick
* If I ate better, I wouldn't be sick
* If I exercised more, I wouldn't be sick
* If I didn't let myself get so stressed out, I wouldn't be sick

And so on. It's lovely. :-(

Woe Is Me

File under: Things That Suck.

* I am sick AGAIN. Not deathly ill, not flu-like, just motherfucking annoyingly filled with snot. Argh. After Hacking up My Lung Cold Part 1, I had about 3 minutes of feeling human before starting to feel this way again. I keep blowing my nose and coughing, but all I really want to do is sleep and stay in sweatpants all day.

I attempted to run three miles this morning with Snot Cold, and that sucked. I worked from home, but that freaks me out with its solitariness so I decided to walk up to Davis for lunch and more cough medicine. I threw on a hot outfit of white sweat socks, clogs, jeans that are too short and one of YG's sweatshirts and headed to Diesel where my homeless ensemble attracted one of the local crazies. She sat next to me at the lunch counter, kept breathing in my ear, and freaked the fuck out when I said that I eat meat. She had total rat's nest hair, about three teeth, and was just spaced out, but got very very angry when I told her about how I slaughter baby cows for fun and roast them in a pit in my yard (read: am not a vegetarian.) Everyone else was politely ignoring us and wishing us gone.

I'm not usually down with the whole interacting with the public thing, but I've been getting better. I'm not outwardly hostile, and I generally enjoy the people at Diesel and like chatting there. Not today. Not down with the crazy. I wish I wasn't feeling so miserable -- then I would have walked to McDonald's and ordered a cheesesteak and eaten it in front of her. Today, I just pretended to be deaf.

* I just had another $600 worth of work done on my car. "Winterizing," oil change, brakes, transmission fluid flush and some other shit that I don't really understand. I know I'm a smart person, but I don't understand anything about cars. This has nothing to do with my gender. I'm just not smart about them. I'm not smart about bidets either, but you don't have anyone questioning my worth as a human because I don't understand why you'd build something to shoot water up your ass. Anyway, I usually take my car in when I'm going on a long trip or something bad hasn't happened in a while. I'm driving to NJ next week during the worst driving time of the year and I had the great pleasure of my car breaking down on Thanksgiving weekend on the Pike last year, so I decided to take it in. I asked for the winterizing thing, and when they called to tell me everything else I needed, I relied on YG to translate -- or explain it to me as he would to a baby or to a retarded person. Basically, it translates into $600. Good times.

* I just realized that a Secret Santa exchange that I signed up for requires me to make something, not buy something. I am not crafty. At all. I do not cook, knit, paint, draw, woodwork, sew, needlepoint, bedazzle or anything like it. I shop. I am a capitalist. I feel very, very badly for my person who is probably going to get a deformed origami bird with a "it's unfortunate that I suck. Happy Nondemoninational Holiday" card.

And that is it for today. No spell checking. More sleep.

Some Kind of Relief

I didn't get laid off tonight. I didn't think I would, but there was a piece of me that would have actually been relieved. Don't get me wrong -- I NEED to work and I have a lot of expenses (rent, car payments, credit card debt, the whole freakin' wedding). But there's a part of me that feels that getting laid off now would not be the worst thing that ever happened to me.

It might force the issue of figuring out what to do next. I know that I want to spend more time writing, and I know that I want to use some of my work skills to help our church out more with some of its PR and comms needs. If I wasn't working so much, I could. If I wasn't working so much, I wouldn't have time to fuck around and wonder what I should do next. I would HAVE to figure it out.

There's a part of me that would LOVE to tell my very work-identified parents that I got laid off and that I was going to get a job at Starbucks and "thanks for shelling out that hundred grand on my education and always telling me that I was important and shit and to make you proud. Yeah. Thanks. But I think I'm going to hang out and write poetry, maybe smoke a little pot and make coffee. Okay. And maybe walk dogs too. Hope you're not disappointed or anything." :-)

Oh well. I guess this is for the best and I'll keep on keepin' on if you will.

Sweet!

We just joined the new gym in Davis Square. It's lame how happy I am about this, but I am totally going to kick ass running and biking this winter.

And then I am going to SMOKE YG on the rail trail next spring.
Yes, I said this last year, but this time, for reals.

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Cooking Blows, And Other Observations

I smell like onions. I have been chopping onions for the last half hour because I'm cooking tonight. And I *never* cook. To be fair, I actually love this chili recipe. But I'm much more in love with the eating part.

YG and I taught Sunday school for the first time today. We've been assisting for the past few weeks, but this was the first time we were there alone. He taught. I was the doorkeeper -- the polite way of saying the disciplinarian. Nobody died, was taken to the hospital, or hit or bit each other. It was three little boys and one hyperactive girl. We did Exodus. When asked what was your favorite part of the story, the boys said, "when all the Eygyptians died." Adding, "like in the movie." Fair enough.

In wedding news, the photographer is booked and so is the DJ (read -- guy who comes and plays the playlists off my iPod). So if you're coming and you think the music sucks, it's my fault.

In general news, I'm enjoying running in the cold weather. I hauled my ass out of bed at 6 a.m. last Friday and ran in the neighborhood and it was fantastic. Today, not so much. I sucked ass -- was slow and winded the whole time and feeling blah. I'm running a 5K in NJ on Thanksgiving morning and I'm hoping to improve on my times.

Wow, I am really fucking boring today. I chopped onions. We bought vitamins. Huzzah.

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?
1.Novelist.
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?
Nope.

* 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?
Innie.

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

* Sweet or sour?
Chicken?

* Sun or Moon?
Sun.

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

* Favorite eye color of the opposite sex?
Blue.

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

* Nap today?
Nope.

* 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?
Nope.

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

* Hugs or kisses?
Both

* 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?
Both.

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

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

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

* Slurpee flavor?
Cherry Coke all the way.

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.”

“So….?”

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?

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....

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.

*snort*

I gotta go sell crystal meth to some kids now.

Not An Update

This would be a perfect day to update as it's monsooning here, but I'm not really feeling it. Feeling more like making playlists and trying to find readings for our wedding. Found some nice Rilke stuff, but if anyone has any suggestions, please email me.

Also...music you would be inclined to dance to. :-)

Live Blogging Game Two of the World Series

I have a ton of things to catch up on and three topics I want to cover: my ass, my class and Joe's demise. However, the World Series is on and it's been to dream to not forget about all the homoerotic Tim McGarverisms I hear on a regular basis and shout "did he REALLY just say that?" so here we go.

8:06 p.m. -- Pregame is boring. Balloon volleyball instead.

8:21 p.m. -- Music montages. I wonder if they'll show the bloody sock.
Commercials: Fox 25 News at 11, question for you -- why the hell would I would want an hour and a half of local news?
More commercials: that dude from Nip/Tuck is hot.

8:26 p.m. -- Jamey Carroll making jokes, not so much. Why is it so hard for this guys to read the names of people they play with every day?

8:27 p.m. -- I'm such a fucking dork. I am MasterCard's bitch. I CRY at these commericals and want to die.

8:28 p.m. -- I really would like an Evil Knieval lunchbox. Or any lunchbox at all that has a thermos with a cartoon character in it.

8:30 -- Opening pitch. Schilling's ass is old and saggy, but his ball "had a lot of juice on it." Hee. Now that I hate Beckett so much, the Schilling hate has kind of subsided. But then I see him, and I kind of wish he would get beat in the face.

8:35 -- Note to Fox: Only women like the close up facial shots, so more Lowell, Varitek, etc. Not so much on the Schilling.

8:37 -- Somebody needs to steal a base, but I REALLY want my free taco. Really, really, really. Free taco. Free taco.

8:42 -- I missed James Taylor singing the National Anthem. I mentioned "JT" to a younger person and they naturally assumed I was talking about Justin Timberlake. I am old. And lame because I like my vagina music folky.

8:44 -- MLB.com informs me that Boyz II Men will be singing "God Bless America" tonight. Um, Boyz II Men? Seriously? Nobody else wanted to sing? According to the article, "Bless America" in the seventh inning of Game 2. They recorded five No. 1 R&B hits between 1992 and 1997, and their single "One Sweet Day" with Mariah Carey, set and broke records for the longest period of time a single remained at No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100." This speaks volumes about the craptasticness of music.

8:47 -- Someone in the comments on TomatoNation referred to Youkilis as "Facebush" today which made me nearly pee my pants laughing. WTF is that thing? It's like a growth.

8:50 -- Do I even need to talk about this Santa Claus movie?

8:51 -- Another baseball commerical (this time for a tv) that makes me cry.

8:52 -- Already rethinking the live blogging thing.

9:00 -- Who do you sit, per AT&T? Ortiz, Lowell or Youkilis. I'm going with Ortiz -- given how everyone else is hitting, why not? You can put him in later.

9:02 -- Pepe Le Douche is up. I really have no reason for disliking JD Drew. I just do. "That hit bone." Hee.

9:04 -- Now Varitek. I used to like this guy. He's hot, he's a decent hitter, okay catcher. But that stupid "C." The "C" killed it for me. If you need a frickin sign on your chest to remind people that you're the captain, then you obviously have no authority, AND you kinda suck. It's so childish and lame. And the "fun fact" tells me that he likes listening to Dave Matthews Band and Bare Naked Ladies which is kind of what I'd expect from a meathead sports guy.

9:18 -- Where did this Ellsbury kid come from? How old is he? Why is everyone on the Yankees 400 years old?

9:24 -- Facebush almost got his head taken off. Jesus Christ. And McCarver says, "Jimenez just trying to come inside." Um, I don't think so. A miss is a miss. On the flip side, Youkilis probably wouldn't get hit so much if he didn't sit on top of the goddamn plate.

9:30 -- Bored enough to go check Go Fug Yourself and I couldn't be happier. For some reason, I can't see the pictures at work, only the text, and that's just not as much fun. Of course I don't know this because I am always working at work and I never, ever slack off.

9:34 -- "Normally, the shorter the stroke, the less power you have." PERFECT! "Dustin Pedroia. A small man with a long stroke." That itself made this whole excercise worthwhile.

9:47 -- Tie game. Musical bullpen.

9:50 -- I'm sure Terry Francona is a lovely man, but he fell out of the same ugly tree as Joe Torre. No more close ups please.

9:51 -- I GET MY FREE TACO! SWEET!

9:52 -- And in the next minute, I'm bored.

9:58 -- Took a break to wash my face and cry about all my gray hair. It MULTIPLIES! Over night! Also pondering my outfit and whether or not I should post a pic on "Am I Hot?" Bright green yoga pants, pink nightgown on top, gray knee socks, and a Syracuse hoodie that I am praying I bought when I was up there for BB and Phil's wedding party thing in 2005, because if I didn't buy it then, it means that I bought it when I actually went to Syracuse....9 years ago. If I was a guy, I would totally have sex with me right now.

10:03 -- I love the number of dick commericals during sports broadcasts. Levitra. Cialis. Viagra. I hardly ever see these commercials on regular t.v. I am very curious about "call your doctor about an erection lasting over 4 hours." Isn't that Sting's whole thing?

10:04 -- Montage!

10:06 -- The opposite to my outfit, YG has spent the past two nights looking cute on the couch in various Red Sox hoodies, hats and t-shirts.

10:08 -- Facebush Face-off.

10:13 -- Just doublechecked the spelling of Apodaca. Pitching coach for the Rockies. Makes me laugh.

10:14 -- McCarver "Manny can strike like a cobra in a basket." OMG, he's so.....cheesy.

10:17 -- Boston leads. Hottie Lowell puts the Red Sox again.

10:21 -- Too much testosterone. Take a moment during the pitching change to shove breasts in YG's face. Appreciated.

10:24 -- Another pitching change. No more boobage. We're folding socks.

10:31 -- This fucking Chevy Malibu commerical. Oh my God! It was funny the first time and gotten more unfunny each of the other 450,000th times.

10:37 -- The CEO of Taco Bell needs some blotting paper. But I like him. Because he makes really good fake meat. I have no qualms about sharing my love of the chaluppa. I read Fast Food Nation. I understand how these things work. And I don't care.

10:38 -- Helton. Facebush: The Brunette version.

10:42 -- And Schilling's out.

10:47 -- YG highjacks computer. Yankees still suck.

10:48 -- Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

10:53 -- Very funny, YG. Missed the end of the inning because I was crawling around in the mud room attempting to lure Cat #2 out of her hiding spot. She's getting weirder and weirder and I can't tell if she's sick or just old and weird.

10:55 -- America agrees with me. 47% say sit Ortiz.

11:00 -- Bored. YG snoring. I'm looking at wedding photographers for my "special day." Seriously -- am I supposed to spend $4k on this stuff? No way.

11:05 -- "Youkilis has had trouble with sweat pouring down the top of his batting helmet all season." Ew.
"Get down Jacoby." And get back, Loretta.

11:12 -- How brilliant is Jordan's furniture? I love marketing shit that works.

11:15 -- If I gave a shit about the NFL or college football, it would be a good time to be a fan in New England, according to Joe Buck.

11:19 -- And now to honor America! Boyz II Men. When we were in college, NN's roommate Kopal and our other friend Megan drove to Buffalo to see these guys in concert. That was retarded -- in 1997. I have no idea what it means to like Boyz II Men now.
YG: Do these guys suck?
Me: I think so.

11:27 -- Jonathan Papelbon's instructional dance video was kinda funny. For 11:30 at night.

11:44 -- "Twinkletoes Papelpon" in in the 8th.

11:51 -- Don't get the Sweet Caroline thing. Probably never will. But appreciate the Jewish Elvis.

11:56 -- I missed a McCarverism, but apparently Pedroia still has a long stroke.

11:58 -- Papelbon has a towel on his "moneymaker." Hee.

11:59 -- To the ninth. Snore.

12:07 -- Two outs. Bed! Bed! Bed!

12:08 -- 0-2. John Henry is what I imagined all people from Massachusetts looked like. And that is not a compliment. Running of the bases in loafers? DOUCHE.

12:09 -- AND WE'RE DONE.

Catching My Breath After The Last Week

That thing that I was freaking about over at work is finally done. Done okay, I think. Not great, but not horrible. Time will tell if this makes a good impression or not. I am moving on to the next thing that I am freaking about over at work. I fly out tomorrow, spend two days in back to back meetings, and then fly home and have to pack up my office because we are moving, and then I move on to third thing I am freaking about over. Hopefully, though, after that, I will be able to catch multiple breaths in a row.

One thing is clear, though. My time doing this kind of work is limited. I've never loved it, but I loved being good at it, being one of the best kids in the class, and knowing that if I wanted it, tasted it, I'd be the one moving up in the world. That's not really sustainable anymore. I'm not quite sure how to extricate myself, but I do know I want to. This second, anyway. Most of the time I have these thoughts, I follow the thread and end up thinking that I'm so full of shit, that I'll be working in Corp Comm for the rest of my life, always trying to be the smartest kid in the class. Always worried that someone is going to figure me out.

This stuff is always rattling around in my brain, but there's been one GOOD development that's made it a lot louder lately. My writing class. It is fantastic! I'm having so much fun and loving the feedback that I'm getting from people, and again with the smartest kid in the class syndrome, I am loving that people think I'm good at this. For my second class, two women showed up and said that they couldn't wait to hear what I wrote. After ONE assignment. I'll be missing class for work travel this week, and that kind of blows. I love being disciplined about writing. It's not that I didn't write before (I blah, blah on this thing, after all, and I journal), but I wasn't writing stories.

The class is called Stories from Life, and duh, it's about using the stories from your own life as the basis for bigger and better things. For the first class, we had to bring an article of clothing that meant something to us and write about it in class. I brought the first pair of combat boots I ever bought. For the second class, we had to draw a four-panel cartoon and use it to tell a story, and then we later wrote a short story about it in class. I wrote about getting busted reading magazines and crappy books behind the Missle and Bible in Mass, when everyone thought I was the quietest, well-behaved kid in Church. The next assignment is to write about something related to weather, and I'm having trouble with it. I can't seem to think of anything, except for driving in the snow the Christmas day my Pop-Pop died. I'm so used to writing funny, ironic stuff that that is well out of my comfort zone. We'll see.

Another thought that's become very clear -- if feeding my family were dependent on my writing, I'd probably do more of it. Hmmmm....

Other good things:

* I ran my second 5K this weekend and smoked my previous time. I finished in 35:16, more than 3 minutes less than my last one. To be fair, I think the course was slightly shorter, but it had a horrendously big hill. I think that's it in terms of Massachusetts races, but I'm going to try and run one in NJ over Thanksgiving weekend.

* There is a race on November 4, but I'm skipping it because YG and I are now teaching Sunday School of sorts at our church. If you know me and you just read that, you've probably just either fainted or fallen down laughing. But, I'm serious. I'm not a fundie -- I just really like the church and we wanted to give something back other than money [because, really, we are still corporate money grubbers at heart. Kill the poor! Rarh! ;-)]. We had the first class today, and it was interesting. There were only three kids, but one antsy one, and I managed to suppress my urge to shout "shut the hell up and stop fidgeting and pay some frickin' attention," but I managed a more "godly" "shhhh..." We shall see.

* We had a great "I love living in the city" weekend. Yesterday, we caught some of the Honk Festival in Davis Square, and the MG and I danced around a bit before heading down to Harvard for a ton of Japanese food and a fantastic performer in the Square. Today, we went to Octoberfest and watched the Honkers parade, and it was awesome.

* Playoff baseball is here. I don't have much hope for the Yankees, but am quite impressed by the Rockies and that closer for the Diamondbacks. I am hoping that the Angels can pull off one game so I can rib YG a little bit, and that the Yankees don't blow it too bad. Right now, I'm resolving to not be too cranky. There's always next season.

Face the Fear (Or Something)

I have a long post in me somewhere about the outcome of all my bloodwork and doctor's appointments. The abridged version is that, basically, according to the nutrionist, I am "obviously overweight." And that, obviously, sent me into a tailspin. My inner monolouge is SO FUCKING LOUD right now, and I'm not able yet to process all that shit and get it down on paper. She said lots of nice things too that I'm now able to realize, where last week was a lot of "blah, blah,blah, you're fat, blah, blah, eat better because you are fat, blah, blah, FAT, FAT, FAT."

So yeah. Apparently this is not uncommon, though.

This project, Illustrated BMI Categories, made me feel a lot better. You should check it out. Like, right now.

Also making me feel better about being "obviously overweight" is the fact that I ran 3 miles and rode 15 miles yesterday and am running my next 5K next week.

And, oh yeah, my creative writing class started and it is awesome and fantastic, and I am so so so glad I did this.

I have been MIA and will continue to be MIA for a while because work is insane and my boss is out for a bit taking care of his newborn kid. But I will be back. And I will be fat and I will be awesome. :-)