Where Am I Going, And Why Am I In This Handbasket?
Monday, June 05, 2006
Summer's Got Me Mighty BitchyMy morning began irritably, thanks to an annoying Ann Coulter interview on the Today Show. I was going to start my bloggery by mocking that idiot whore, but my pal Lunchbox did a great job of it on his blog - so now I don't have to tax my precious typing fingers. Click on the link below to see it, it's pretty funny. You know, because she's a Moronic Nazi Hooker:
http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=44574689&blogID=129505760&Mytoken=6D9C3DA7-00D7-4AD1-B3EF0B36E9BBD4781537120453
Okay, now that I've got that nasty phlegm outta my system, I can go on to bitch about something else. For those of you who do not live in Arizona and are blissfully ignorant, let me announce that not only is it Officially Fucking Summer here, but it means (you gotta understand) that it's also viciously & sadistically HOT. The flat air around us is searing. Even when it's perfectly quiet (because everything just died), you hear actual sizzling noises. Probably your brain baking, but still. Makes me kinda cranky.
And this is the general attitude of most residents, no matter how long you've been here. While there MUST be perks to living in the Valley of the Sun (I assume so only because hundreds of you pricks move here every day), we HomeTowners fail to recall what those supposed benefits are anymore (I think these memories reside in the baked chunk of the brain). We're the ones you glimpse during those quick flashes when we resign ourselves to being outside: that bitter walk from the car to the office/store/house. Don't try talking to me when you see me like this. I might not even hear you because I'll be growling. And my ears will have probably melted off by then.
HOWEVER, there are ways to survive the Fucking Summers. But you have to dig deep, and far back. To those Summers of Yore, when we were carefree kids splashing ourselves silly all day in our swimming pools. Except now we do it with beer. And lots of it.
Take Memorial Day Weekend - I house/dogsat over the long weekend. The twerps had just left to be with Grandma in Oregon for the summer, and poor Chris had to wake up at the crack of dawn to drive them halfway to meet Yaya, delivering them somewhere in the Nevada desert.
Bummer. Because I was already in the pool, on my way to a buzz & a sunburn long before the poor bastard even crossed Hoover Dam. And then my friends arrived, with pool toys and Lots O Booze. It was ON.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Am I Too Fucking Crass?So my girl has a lovely new boyfriend. I will say that I genuinely like him and he's pretty damn hot. That said, I will also admit that he's so damn perfect that I'd roll my eyes at each report of his Perfectness if I wasn't so happy that someone is finally treating her as well as she deserves. It's only the Mock Envy of a girl whose own Honeymoon Phase ended quite a while ago.
Naturally, I prod her to look for imperfections in her Lovely New Man. She's got nothin'. So I tried to be helpful: Are his toenails too long? Does he have an annoying twitch? Does he play video games? Refuse to watch foreign films because he doesn't like "reading his movies"? Habitually lose his fucking keys in queer random places like the freezer case at the grocery store and set off 20 minute store-wide searches?
My many suggestions triggered nothing. He doesn't even possess a game-playing device. The only thing she could come back with is that He Um Says The Word PEE. Like, when he has to Pee. She thinks it's crass.
Hahaha. I know to say that I ain't no Super-Refined Miss Manners is an understatement, but I fail to be impressed with her weakass "complaint".
He has to PEE? Well, let's pray he gets no crasser than THAT. Hahaha.
I couldn't help but laugh at her and tell her to count her lucky fucking stars: My old man took a shit while I was in the goddamn shower the other day. As soon as I caught a whiff I peeked out and saw him sitting on the can and I started yelling and whining and he just started cracking up. He was so amused. Joey was using the bathroom downstairs, he claimed. He couldn't wait any longer. I just kept whining and moaning and going OH MAN OH MAN YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE and I almost cracked my head reaching for a perfumey spray bottle on the rack above the toilet. I was desperate. Shampoo in my eyes and I'm spraying the damn bottle everywhere while he laughs and laughs. Bastard.
So, while this was an illuminating example of How To Tell When The Honeymoon Is Indeed Over, I hoped that it also served to show her that using the word PEE hardly counts as a character flaw. And he doesn't even play video games like my old man does, dude. I told her she should go suck his wang just because of THAT.
Pee pee pee pee pee. Hahaha.
Epilogue: So last week I did it to him. I went in to the bathroom and sat on the Loo while he was showering and when he got a whiff of my Eau de Turd, I said OOPS I just thought I had to pee. THIS is quite a surprise!
Tee hee.
The Toilet Seat Muesum:
http://www.unusualmuseums.org/toilet/
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
My ex is getting married.Don't worry, it's not one of THOSE posts. I'm not freaking out. I'm not shocked that yet another ex somehow moved past me and found someone else worthy enough for an actual commitment. The Commitment. I haven't personalized it or made it about Me. I've just got to assume that they're okay settling with less pretty less funny less interesting less intillectual less dynamic lesser lovers. Hahaha. I do not want to pour myself a vat of wine.
Okay, seriously. That's not the point of this post. We're friends. He's a great guy and I'm lucky to have known him. I'm just giggling a little at his recent claim about his upcoming wedding, is all:
So he's getting married this summer. He just informed me that he will be playing his guitar and singing and dancing. He's a bit of a kidder, so I'm not sure how much of that is actually true. I wrote him back pretending like I believed him, as usual, and asked for more details:
HIS RESPONSE:
Interesting that you should be more surprised by my guitar/singing work (acoustic) at the wedding, and spend not even a moment commenting on the dance portion of the performance. This tells me you find my singing and guitaring less plausible... if I read a little more into it, I would guess it also means you remain awed by my work on the dance floor. No need to be embarassed about this, you're not the only one who feels that way. Some people have a gift, and luckily they share it with the world. To tell you the truth, I think it's selfish when people with such blessings lock them away from the people who would benefit just be in their presence. Anyway, I'll let you know how it comes out.
ME:
Okay, I chose to ignore the DANCING part. I thought surely you JEST. At least the Guitar part had a toehold on reality. Goodness. Don't embarass your wife. Unless she thinks your Lucky Charm Kick is part of your charm. WOAH, then.
SERIOUSLY. Is this a choreographed thing? Are you singing Kermie's Rainbow Connection song like the groom did at that wedding I took you to in Cali where you were petrified of the fucking garter and my father had to drag you on the dance floor the SECOND time they threw the thing because not ONE man budged a fucking inch to grab the flying garter on the first toss which you were curiously absent for and that SECOND time when you stayed in the back of the mancrowd and cowered like it represented some betroathement contract or something if you flinched an inch and revealed yourself and the long-haired whitetrash father of the groom finally bent over to pick up the diseased garter after it sat on the silent dance floor for what seemed like an eternity while I stood there trying not to to feel like the ugly flat pre-teen wallflower with a headgear being rejected by the entire male species and my supposed boyfriend who apparently assumed I was trying to chain him to me or something. HAHAHAHA. Don't sing THAT song. Unless you are. Then I'm sure it will be lovely.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
I Chaperone. Hahaha.Like the good lil Stepmommish I am, I chaperoned Joey's field trip to the State Capitol the other day (never thought I'd use that word to describe any of MY actions). What a nice lil tour. The kids were alternately hyper with curiosity in that hoppity hoppity eager way and then, bored.
A normal, common, basic frield trip - every kid should see their State Capital.
As I trailed behind the group and tried to keep the shaggy kid, who for some reason felt it brag-worthy to inform the tour guide that he was born in Poland, from wandering away and kicking everything he passed - it ocurred to me I'd had some strange fucking field trips. I nudged the kicker, "Hey Polish, quit knocking over the cardboard cops." Quit yanking the flags. Keep moving. No drinking fountain for you. If YOU stop and take a drink, so will all the other kids. MOVE IT, TWERP. It is an exercise in futility to expect children to keep to single file lines. Unless they're holding hands. But then you are subjected to the squeals of little girls who have now contacted The Cooties. So the Polish Footballer gets his way in the end.
Okay. In 7th grade my class went to a MORTUARY. Yup. I can't recall why, I can't recall the parental uproar I would assume it caused (or didn't it?). I just remember learning that the lady told us how pennies helped close the dead eyelids, and I remember seeing a really really small casket that I figured was for midgets. Until she corrected my assumption and informed us that the small casket was for children. It never occurred to me that there would be such a need. Small caskets are for midgets. Yup.
I went to Catholic school, by the way. I don't know if that needs to be mentioned. If it makes more sense now that you know that.
When I pulled this memory out and accused my mother of allowing the ground to shake from under me like that, she doesn't ever remember that I went on a field trip to a mortuary. Nice. Real nice.
I'm sorry, Joey, are you bored?
Next time I'll take him to the mortuary. See how he likes THAT. Perhaps he'd like to see something like THIS instead:
Now eat yer veggies, or you'll soon be snuggling in this.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Hike for Discovery - Survived the Canyon WOOHOO!An amazing weekend.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Our Presidents Are Not Donkeys At AllThree years ago today, aboard the homeward-bound aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln, "The tyrant has fallen and Iraq is free," President George W. Bush declared, standing underneath a banner proclaiming: "MISSION ACCOMPLISHED."
Ummmmmm.
OH, and this is fun:
Headline: Mexico set to legalize personal amounts of pot, cocaine, heroin
"If Fox signs the measure and it becomes law, it could strain the two countries' cooperation in anti-drug efforts -- and increase the vast numbers of vacationing students who visit Mexico." Hahaha that's fucking funny.
Just like every other cool innovation that arrived AFTER my time - such as kickass playgrounds at McDonald's popping up right AFTER I was too big to play, like last call in Arizona changing until 2am AFTER my partying prime - this new law arrives 10 years too late to "lawfully" amp up my spring breaks. Screwed again.
Check it out:
http://www.cnn.com/2006/WORLD/americas/04/28/mexico.drugs.ap/index.html
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
The LOST War Has Begun.I'm starting a LOST WAR at home. Maybe you can play too.
I mentioned that I'd tackled and pinned Chris down the other day, and explained all the wonderful reasons why he should totally watch LOST, especially since I SACRIFICE my own eyeballs, and ultimately my MIND, when I watch all those bullshit B-movies and the monstergaragespaghettiwesterncookingshow bullshit I volunteer to subject my generous and loving and GIVING soul to, JUST to be near my darling - and he can't even stay in the fucking house when LOST is on. That he leaves. LEAVES! Even after my moving argument (imagine my pleading eyes, on the verge of tears as I begged my future husband to sit with his adoring & devoted fiance and watch one lil TV show)...he just shrugged and said, "Nope". Hahaha bastard.
No matter. After his disappointing answer, I calmly took my elbow off his chest, took my knee off his belly, stood up and walked away slowly. Somehow I knew, even then, that my battle had just begun.
AND - as if on cue, as if the gods above were announcing that they were in my corner, on the RIGHTEOUS SIDE of the battle between Relationship Good & Evil...on the very top of the mag stack at work, where the ad department piles the rags we advertise in, yesterday appeared the latest edition of Men's Health magazine.
Of which its cover will soon be gracing our fridge at home.
I mentioned that I'd tackled and pinned Chris down the other day, and explained all the wonderful reasons why he should totally watch LOST, especially since I SACRIFICE my own eyeballs, and ultimately my MIND, when I watch all those bullshit B-movies and the monstergaragespaghettiwesterncookingshow bullshit I volunteer to subject my generous and loving and GIVING soul to, JUST to be near my darling - and he can't even stay in the fucking house when LOST is on. That he leaves. LEAVES! Even after my moving argument (imagine my pleading eyes, on the verge of tears as I begged my future husband to sit with his adoring & devoted fiance and watch one lil TV show)...he just shrugged and said, "Nope". Hahaha bastard.
No matter. After his disappointing answer, I calmly took my elbow off his chest, took my knee off his belly, stood up and walked away slowly. Somehow I knew, even then, that my battle had just begun.
AND - as if on cue, as if the gods above were announcing that they were in my corner, on the RIGHTEOUS SIDE of the battle between Relationship Good & Evil...on the very top of the mag stack at work, where the ad department piles the rags we advertise in, yesterday appeared the latest edition of Men's Health magazine.
Of which its cover will soon be gracing our fridge at home.
BRING IT, old man.
Oh, and some funny news. Girlfight here prefers lesbo lockdown over donning an orange vest and picking up litter on the side of the highway, apparently:
April 26, 2006
Michelle Rodriguez going to jail
Michelle Rodriguez pleaded guilty yesterday to driving under the influence and opted for five days of jail time rather than 240 hours of community service. She been ordered to return to court later today where she'ill be taken into custody and transported to a women's facility in Oahu.It makes sense she would choose jail over community service since she always looks like she just got ouf of prison anyway. You can't look the way she looks and not enjoy the lesbian prison sex. Science won't allow it.
-The Superficial
(Is it wrong that I still think she's kinda hot?)
So naturally, I'm on myspace.com
I signed in this morning to a new Friend Request. Since I don't capriciously click on the Accept button (ooooh I'm such a bitchy myspace snob), I decided to check out this dude first. His name is Tourette's Guy.
Okay, I know it's a serious affliction and I have much sympathy for those who are stuck with it. One might even deduce from my own myspace name that I've had a brush with certain O.C. tendencies in my life (I mean, The Twitch was my fucking nickname in high school. You should have seen me through puberty. Sigh). BUT if Tourette's Guy can see the humor, then I sure as shit am gonna allow myself to guffaw at work as I try to save my ass from getting fired because I didn't hit the Mute button on time. You might lose your job after your humorless PC coworkers hear all the cussing that booms from your soulless cube-hole, but it might be worth it.
So I just had to send him a Fuckin Great To Meet You note. I said Hullo, told him about a cousin of mine who had Tourette's as a child and asked him some questions, and mentioned a favorite novel called Motherless Brooklyn that he might like. I can tell this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship:
TOURETTE GUY'S RESPONSE:
I am very-FUCKIN GOD DAM IT-to hear about your-SON OF A BITCH-cousin,I hope my -ANAL SHOE SNOW-story can help all-SON OF A BITCH FASHIONBUG- thanks
Oh! There are no words. Just my giggles. I wonder if TG went to this school:
I signed in this morning to a new Friend Request. Since I don't capriciously click on the Accept button (ooooh I'm such a bitchy myspace snob), I decided to check out this dude first. His name is Tourette's Guy.
Okay, I know it's a serious affliction and I have much sympathy for those who are stuck with it. One might even deduce from my own myspace name that I've had a brush with certain O.C. tendencies in my life (I mean, The Twitch was my fucking nickname in high school. You should have seen me through puberty. Sigh). BUT if Tourette's Guy can see the humor, then I sure as shit am gonna allow myself to guffaw at work as I try to save my ass from getting fired because I didn't hit the Mute button on time. You might lose your job after your humorless PC coworkers hear all the cussing that booms from your soulless cube-hole, but it might be worth it.
So I just had to send him a Fuckin Great To Meet You note. I said Hullo, told him about a cousin of mine who had Tourette's as a child and asked him some questions, and mentioned a favorite novel called Motherless Brooklyn that he might like. I can tell this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship:
TOURETTE GUY'S RESPONSE:
I am very-FUCKIN GOD DAM IT-to hear about your-SON OF A BITCH-cousin,I hope my -ANAL SHOE SNOW-story can help all-SON OF A BITCH FASHIONBUG- thanks
Oh! There are no words. Just my giggles. I wonder if TG went to this school:
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Fresh Fish and Fresh SteppiesOn Saturday I took Steptwerp #1 to see Nick Sterling, an AMAZING guitar prodigy (and his namesake!). This kid has been playing since he was a wee lil thang and he's about 16 now - I saw him a few years ago and he blew me away. Once Nick started learning the guitar last summer I vowed to take him to see one of his shows. We finally had the chance over the weekend and I was astounded at how much better he'd gotten. He was stretched out and tall, wearing skintight jeans and black Chuck Taylors - adorable. His trademark long blonde hair was now straight and shiny and down to his ass - fanning out all over as he hunched over his guitar. It was so groovy. And he was so damn cute. Politely thanking the crowd, smiling shyly when we cheered. It was too much. The old-fashioned parentalish gal in me was impressed at his manners. Hahaha. I'm fucking old is what I am.
So even though Nick was impressed and we had our eyes glued to the stage, during the break a tiny blonde teenypopper bumbed into him and he leaned over to say OOOPS or Excuse Me, or so I thought. Next thing I knew the twerp was playing pool with the girl. Holy shit he works fast. I was super scared. Turns out she was an 8th grader. ACK ACK ACK. As they flirted and played a halfass game of pool I racked my brain at the different deadbolt options I could tastefully line his bedroom door with. And what kind of alarm system I could get for the patio door that leads from his bedroom to the outer world, where petite Lolitas await in the shadows to ensare my Stepkid.
Back to the guitar show. Nick Sterling covers Satriani & Stevie Ray Vaughn to perfection, in their own styles. He doesn't cover pussy music - he dives into the great greats, including a kickass version of Hot For Teacher. I was laughing my ass off and how much fun I was having. He wrote all the music and played all the instruments on a recent album that he completed before his 15th fucking birthday. It's shocking how good this kid is. Even while I was having an internal Puberty Panic, I managed to dig the show.
So even though Nick was impressed and we had our eyes glued to the stage, during the break a tiny blonde teenypopper bumbed into him and he leaned over to say OOOPS or Excuse Me, or so I thought. Next thing I knew the twerp was playing pool with the girl. Holy shit he works fast. I was super scared. Turns out she was an 8th grader. ACK ACK ACK. As they flirted and played a halfass game of pool I racked my brain at the different deadbolt options I could tastefully line his bedroom door with. And what kind of alarm system I could get for the patio door that leads from his bedroom to the outer world, where petite Lolitas await in the shadows to ensare my Stepkid.
Back to the guitar show. Nick Sterling covers Satriani & Stevie Ray Vaughn to perfection, in their own styles. He doesn't cover pussy music - he dives into the great greats, including a kickass version of Hot For Teacher. I was laughing my ass off and how much fun I was having. He wrote all the music and played all the instruments on a recent album that he completed before his 15th fucking birthday. It's shocking how good this kid is. Even while I was having an internal Puberty Panic, I managed to dig the show.
Sterling alternated between no fewer than 10 beautiful guitars during the 2-hour set. Great shit.
The Nicks
My old man and I celebrated our 3rd anniversary the other day, on 4/20. Ahem. Yes, I get it. The irony. Well, if there are munchies to be satisfied, at least they would be healthy. Because Chris decided to make sushi! Hahaha.
He did an amazingly good job. Not because it's a shock, since he's a great fucking cook - but because sushi ain't easy to make and it was his first time. I was pleasantly surprised. And my idle, resting stomach was relieved to survive the night. I like my baby. I think I'll go ahead and marry him. Okay.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
ClimbingClimbingClimbing and Sidewalk SlutsEaster weekend. Nothing to do with Bunnies and the resurrected Christ here. Although I did see a great program on the National Geographic channel about the Gospel of Judas. I know it pisses off a lot of SuperChristians, and that fact alone cracks me up. Anyway. The dude that played Judas in the re-enactments was really hot. Jesus was pretty cute too. Sexy Middle Eastern Hippies. The casting was superb. Two Thumbs Up.
ANYWAY. I had one of the coolest hikes EVER over the weekend (the Tepozteco in Tepoztlan, Mexico is my #1 Favorite - a beautiful mountain in a cobblestoned village about an hour outside of Mexico City - there's a pyramid at the top! And a Coke stand!) - SO my #2 Favorite is the Flat Iron at the Lost Dutchman State Park in the Superstitions. At first I wasn't terribly pleased that I had to drive to Apache Junction at 6:30 am on a Saturday morn, but 6 hours later (ACK) - I was singing a different tune.
I cannot overstate the beauty of this place. It was challenging and tiring and scary and there was much rock-climbing (not the scary kind that involves rappeling and shit) - but it was the coolest. Ever.
ANYWAY. I had one of the coolest hikes EVER over the weekend (the Tepozteco in Tepoztlan, Mexico is my #1 Favorite - a beautiful mountain in a cobblestoned village about an hour outside of Mexico City - there's a pyramid at the top! And a Coke stand!) - SO my #2 Favorite is the Flat Iron at the Lost Dutchman State Park in the Superstitions. At first I wasn't terribly pleased that I had to drive to Apache Junction at 6:30 am on a Saturday morn, but 6 hours later (ACK) - I was singing a different tune.
I cannot overstate the beauty of this place. It was challenging and tiring and scary and there was much rock-climbing (not the scary kind that involves rappeling and shit) - but it was the coolest. Ever.
Flat Iron (Pride Rock, I decided on the name change) was our final destination. THAT thing right there!
Us chicks made it to the top first. Yeah. That's right, you pussy.
Okay, I haven't mocked Mojo lately. I caught him trying to fuck Teddy Bear again. He had a SeanPenn/RusselCrowe moment and tried to escape the paparazzi. Hahaha tough shit you little bastard. I'm exposing you as the perverted little asshole that you are.
I'm also exposing him as the clumsy jerk that he is, who doesn't care about other people's property. This is him jumping up on the dresser. Almost.
OH. And my sister was here over the weekend. We took a walk around the neighborhood and came accross some of the cement engravings us boy-crazy lil girls etched, back in the day.
Angel Smith loved Sly Stallone. Tramp.
Me. I was all about Superman. "Christopher Reeve is a babe".
Friday, April 14, 2006
Funko towns and kiddie parties and Hike-o-lisciousnessJust wanted to thank the shit outta all my pals - thanks to you I've SURPASSED my fundraising goal for the Hike For Discovery. Now I can relax and not worry about having to cut a check (which would inevitably bounce) to make up for the difference. I can look forward to my weekend at the Grand Canyon and enjoy myself and all the cool people I've met. This has become a more meaningful experience than I expected it to be, and I'm grateful for that. And everyone that donated has added to that for me. I am truly grateful.
I am totally looking forward to trapsing down the canyon - and to my impending death as I trip and roll and stumble and tumble down, ricocheting along the canyon walls. I have decided that, upon my survival of the Canyon Hike, I will mark this milestone with the End Of My Booze Fast - at least for that night. I'm gonna get loaded. Fer sher. WOOHOO.
SO THANKS!
Top of Camelback earrrrrly in the morn
7 am hike every Saturday morning since February. I'm kickin' some toosh. Rather, getting my heiney kicked. A lot. WOOHOO!
Went to the funnest "kiddie" birthday party ever. Nevermind that darling Theo won't remember it, we will. It was a great time.
Theo gets chased by Dragons and Little Girls
Early lessons in life.
The cutest goddaughter in the universe. Yeah, I'm partial. But I'm right.
So I took a loooong daytrip to Bisbee this week. I love that frickin' town. Adorable hill community and a buncha kooks, too.
This bastard was reading as he drove. READING!
Some local priest's house. I mean, CAR.
Some freak lives here. Used to be a Greyhound station.
HA. Get this. Frank's excuse for ditching me and giving me a complex: An SUV crashed into his living room.
Hmmm. Likely story. I don't know who's crazier. Him or me.
Monday, April 10, 2006
On "Lost"I had a philosophical argument with my old man the other night about the greatest funnest engagingist show on TV, LOST. I know we all have different tastes, but I feel like this show is just SO much fun and interesting on so many levels, that it simply HAS to appeal to everyone. I can't understand why anyone would dislike it. Like most of the opinions I hold, I simply cannot fathom when anyone doesn't agree with me. It makes no sense. Ha.
So if my old man isn't working on any given night, I'm thrilled - it means he gets to hang with me, with his twerps. Lately he hasn't worked Wednesday nights, so he's home. He cooks dinner and we all have a nice lil time. Come 8pm, however, he literally walks out the door, to run an errand, to visit his buddy down the street, whatever - he says he'll be back in an hour. He refuses to watch Lost with me. It makes me absolutely bonkers.
So I pinned him down to the couch, elbow on his chest (it paralyzes him in a combo of pain & giggles), and we had a calm discussion. That I watch hours and hours and hours of stupid shit like Motorcycle/Monster/Tattoo/Cooking shows, I watch fucking Walking Tall & Tombstone with him every time they're on (which is every other day), quality flicks with the likes of Brian Dennehy & Tom Berenger - all kinds of things I think are lame - JUST to be near him, JUST to show I can GIVE hahaha and the second Lost comes on Chris simply HAS to leave the fucking HOUSE, he can't even stand to be in the same room while it's on. He has to scram.
While I technically won because I had many superior points, I lost because at the end Chris just laughed & shrugged, and said NOPE. He won't watch the show.
ARGH!
Thursday, April 06, 2006
I'm becoming Woody Allen. My neurotic side has been re-awoken.If I didn't have a complex about my self worth before, I sure as shit do now. Ha. Yeah.
Apparently I am easy to forget. Apparently I bore the shit out of him. Apparently I'm not even worthy of a prior phone call.
I wasn't even angry, I was injured. WOUNDED! Butthurt! And that sad fact confused me. Then it offended me.
So I've been seeing a therapist type fella. Thought I'd give it a shot. What the hell. It's been recommended to me over the years, you know. Ahem.
So there I went. Trying to shuck my preconceived notions about shrinks. Trying not to call them shrinks, for one. Trying not to judge or mock people who see therapists - that it's common enough, and even normal enough, for a functional human being to want to talk to a qualified stranger once in a while. I'm not crazy. I'm not a mess. Nope.
Okay, I was nervous the first time I went. I didn't know what to expect and was truly hoping not to find a chaise lounge that I'd be expected to lay down in, or a monocled, bored old man who was going to attribute all my ills to a secret desire of possessing a penis. I mean, who wouldn't want to possess a penis? Put a cute lil wang in a cozy box, with red velvet lining and holes for air. But me, I just wanted to talk, man.
So Frank is a 40something, casual and laid-back Italian from Brooklyn. I sat in an actual chair and we both said shit and hell several times. Cool. I felt relaxed. Now, I've seen him only half a dozen times, but I was now operating from a comfortable place with him, I'd gotten over my insecurities and silly notions. He was just a cool dude who was listening to me, and I could bitch and moan and confess and not worry about hurting anyone's feelings, and actually aide my own. Sweeeet. I could get used to this shit.
Until I got ditched by my fucking therapist. Yeah. You heard me. Right outta some fucking Woody Allen movie.
I stood outside his door the other day for our appointment. I waited until 10 after. I knocked timidly on his closed door. Nothing. At 15 minutes after the hour, I called his office line - I could hear his phone ringing 3 yards away. No answer. I then left him a message, and I asked a woman wandering past me if she knew whether or not Frank was in. She shrugged in a much less self-assured manner than I'd want a person working in her field to be - she was more nervous to knock on his door than I was. Great. Whackjobs infiltrating the behavioral health system, how encouraging.
So he wasn't there! Frank had flown the coop and ditched my sorry ass. I'm in turmoil, I tell you!
I mean, what the shit is THAT? Being ditched by your fucking shrink is perhaps not the most beneficial thing for a soul. IF I were a more delicate person (which I've been feeling as it pertains to this new status as someone who's "in therapy", that word still makes me itch), or if I were an emotionally volatile type (which I could argue that someone seeing a therapist in the first place might actually BE - not that I am, per se. Yeah. No. I'm not.) - flakiness might have more dire implications. Not therapeutically useful, I might even suggest. Bastard!
AND, get this. Here's the kicker. He hasn't even fucking called me back. Ha! And I emailed him yesterday (in a restrained tone, just in case he was mangled or something, I didnt want a permanent record of violent indignance left behind). But I AM indignant. This wasn't a flaky friend you don't expect to show, or my dentist. I felt like the dweeby high school chick that arrived for a date with that guy I suspected was probably too hot for me anyway, who never really planned on showing up. Maybe he and his football buddies were hiding around the corner, giggling at me as I stood there in my Benetton sweater and face full of braces, wondering where he was.
You'd think that someone in his field would be more cognizant of what ditching a vulnerable crazy person might do to them. Ha.
Not that this person is me, or anything.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Dork in DCI was in DC last week for a Border Issues conference (snoozy), a Border Infrastructure breakfast at the Capital (shmoozy), some meetings with McCain's & Kyl's staff to complain about the Western Hemisphere Travel Initiative (learn about it - because soon you'll have to get a passport just to cross back & forth into Mexico, Canada & the Caribbean - no more day trips to getcher drugs and shop in Nogales or get sloshed in Rocky Point without one!), and then I had a meeting with National Geographic concerning that neato mapping project we're doing (woowee Marci Geeks out). My eyes were bugged out the whole damn time, obviously.
Imagine me walking around trying to contain my political/dweeby/touristy glee while pretending to maintain somewhat of a professional facade. Not easy. Can't be totally sure if I even pulled it off. Plus it was my first time in Washington - and I must say the city sure kicks some ass.
A bit of a perverted town, though. I saw:
the Big Wang and the Huge Boobie
But I also saw some art:
Hahaha.
So the mapping project I'm working on with National Geographic involves the Center for Sustainable Destinations (a really neat dept) and several very cool people in other departments (their Maps Dept is soooo awesome). My primary contact there is a very nice fellow named James and we're pals by now. He called me last week a few days before we were scheduled to meet, to invite me last-minute to a reception at the Sackler gallery at the Smithsonian - his director, Jonathan, had just come accross the invitation on his desk and panicked - the reception was that very night and he was already committed elsewhere. So James was to attend, and was nice enough to invite me along.
I was again pretending to be only midly excited, and I calmly responded Sure Thang. Then I immediately ran out the door and proudly took the metro all by myself, but ended up walking around for half an hour because I could not find an entrance to the damn gallery. I could SEE it, but the whole mall of galleries was gated off (it was after closing time) and there was no percievable entrance. Hmm. It was frickin' cold out. BRRRR. When I finally ran into James he was just as confused, and the damn gallery looked dark from where we were. Eventually we found a guard but he was totally clueless. Stupid guard. What the hell?
James then pulled out the invitation and it read "Wednesday March 23rd". Welllll, that explained it, Wed was the 22nd! A typo! Maybe it was for the next day. DARN. By now we were frozen in the cold night and James felt terribly. I was disappointed but of course it wasn't his fault. Oh well. Life goes on.
The next day I get an email from James: "Guess What. Amazing. My Boss had the WRONG YEAR. What a joke. My sincere apologies to dragging you out for a chilly wild goose chase." Hahahaha. Shit.
When I had my meeting with them a couple of days later, I passed Jonathan's office, and suddenly I understood how it was possible that such a thing could have happened. Hahaha.
Okay.
So my cousin Alejandro works in DC and lives in a lovely neighborhood near Embassy Row (he's the Mexican ambassador to the OAS - I'm proud to brag about it, but I mention it because it matters to this thread). My last night in town I stayed with him in his purdy house. Accross the street lives the French ambassador, in a huge manor much bigger than any other home in the whole area. Damn french bastard. Two doors down from my cousin, however, lives - GET THIS - Donald fucking Rumsfeld. I nearly shat myself with the giggles when he told me. I didn't believe him. When he pointed out the black SUV permaparked in front I accepted it, especially since it remained there the whole time I stayed with him, with some poor hemorrhoidal SS dudes sitting in it. I took a walk around the block that day and went clickclickclick, hoping I wouldn't get tackled for doing so. I am a brave photojournalist, I am. Hardeeharhar. Alejandro then told me how he had set off his home alarm accidentally one night after he'd first moved in, and immediately heard a loud boom over an intercom from outside asking if he needed help. Oddly comforting, I guess.
Anyhoo. When I called my dad to howl about Alejandro's neighbor, he informed me that his nephew's house was technically Mescin Soil. Sweeeeet. So I asked Alejandro: if I stood on the porch and waited for Rummy to come home from a long hard day engineering lies and death, then flipped him the finger and flapped my arms like a bird and hollered CHICKENHAWK CHICKENHAWK CHICKENHAWK and then ran back inside and slammed the door shut - I was safe, right? They couldn't do anything, right? He uneasily responded to the affirmative. COOL! I said. But then he offered that I would probably not be able to re-emerge from the house again.
Oh. Right.
Casa de Rummy
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
"Successful" Relationships. Or: Gag Me With a SpoonOur 3rd Anniversary is coming up. Is it lame that I'm totally proud? It's my longest relationship ever. Hahahaha. When I bragged about that to my old man the other day, he looked scared. And not entirely impressed. Since we're engaged to be married. Like, someday. And especially about the bragging part.
I'm discussing "Successful Relationships" with a friend. She often says that the One Thing her love life has taught her is that she knows Nothing. I can appreciate that feeling, fer sher, even if I don't think she needs to disqualify herself as a relationship-saavy person because she's never had a "successful" one. Or that she knows nothing. She knows plenty.
Not just because I'm partial to her and I feel that because she's so fucking great it HAS to be His Idiocy that fucks up the relationship (it is, though), or because I'm partial to Womankind and I can confidently say that We Suck Less at this stuff (I'm talking about the Non Crazies, okay - I know there are crazy bitches out there - but they're not me, and they're not my closest, greatest girlfriends - I can vouch for their sanity and Great Catchness) - but because I don't know what determines a Successful Relationship. I know I know, healthiness, communicativeness, respect - I know there's a LIST of desirible features. But entertain me for a sec.
When she disqualified herself to me with a What The Hell Do I Know, I've Never Had A Successful Relationship statement, I felt as if I had to beg to differ.
None of us have had successful relationships, I could argue. Or we'd all be IN them still. In the orginal one. So the only successful ones are the ones we're currently in, by virture of them not being Kaputted yet, which means SHIT. What the fuck is a Successful Relationship? There's no such thing.
And the next person that smugly claims they're in one will get socked in the mouth my me. Take THAT. In the kisser! HA.
Then she shot back that she could name a few - 2 couples that are friends of ours, Goldie & Kurt (ha), and kindly, she mentioned my folks. And they're great, they are. I'm lucky to have them. BUT - my folks almost split up when I was in high school. AND my dad fucked it up when they were teens and lost my mom. AND they're each other's 2nd marriages. Ha. But yeah, I can admit that there are more HEALTHY relationships out there than Cynical Marci can admit.
Ppppllllppphhhhtt. Whatever.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Bush at low point. Huh? How can that BE?Poll: "Bush at low point, GOP support weakens"
Concerns by some party loyalists could impact congressional elections
So his approval rating is at an all-time low of 37 percent. That's not SO bad. It's still higher, than say, Richard Nixon's approval ratings during the Watergate incident. And still 8 points higher than Cheney. I heard on NPR over the weekend that 65 percent of surveyed people would rather hunt with Cheney than eat a rat on live television. That sounds hopeful! Cheer up, old feller.
Bush is also chalk-full of some innovative proposals. When he was in India recently he came up with a great idea to improve our trade deficit, which would surely also impress his fellow Texans. His idea? To export MORE BEEF TO INDIA. His idea came to him, he said, as he was walking around India and saw all these cows wandering around, not being eaten. Must be bad cows.
About This Blog
Name::Marci Twitches
From::Hawi, Hawaii, United States
Oxymoronic. Bart & Lisa. The dingiest smart chick ever or a brainy moron. A cynical romantic. Bleeding heart liberal that thinks inappropriate thoughts, always
View my complete profile
About Me
Name::Marci Twitches
From::Hawi, Hawaii, United States
Oxymoronic. Bart & Lisa. The dingiest smart chick ever or a brainy moron. A cynical romantic. Bleeding heart liberal that thinks inappropriate thoughts, always
View my complete profile
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