Catch up on the F*&%ing Old, Looking Forward to Sh*tty the New

It's a new year, a new dawn, a new blah blah blah.

My new resolution is to not say/do cliché things, like making resolutions.

As I look over this blog, I realize there are many stories I've left untold. Some funny, some moving. I've decided to continue with telling my stories, because everyone's story deserves to be told.

As I was driving around my old neighborhood during the holidays, I passed by the house of one my school friends. Her name was Andrea. I met her when I was in the fourth grade.

I was a tender child back then, and I was proud of this. I remember bragging to my friends that I had yet to "ever say a cuss word in my entire life." My mom and dad fought a lot, and I always thought curse words were only for times when you were angry. I didn't like feeling angry. I was pretty happy, and I found things that continued to make me happy, like the split-level bars on the playground during recess.

I used to hump the hell out of those things, not realizing that I was experimenting with masturbation at a very young age. Naturally I thought that there was nothing wrong with this experiment. After all, it made me feel good, like ice cream, Disney movies, and running real fast made me feel good. Then one day one of my male classmates caught me in my hot metal love affair and all was lost. By the next day, word had spread of my wanton ways, and I was a total outcast. My classmates were not only cruel, they were stupid. Kids would unabashedly spread whispers about me, right in my presence.

One day I just couldn't take it anymore. It was the day two new girls had just joined our class, and we were in the middle of watching a movie. One of the new girls decided to take the spot next to me. As she sat down, Jenny Smith, the biggest bitch in our class, looked at me, and then bent down towards the new girl and began whisper something in her ear. I’d had enough.

"Jenny, for pete’s sake, I know what you are going to whisper to her. You might as well just say it out loud."
"Wha, I wasn't gonna say anything."
"Your pants are so on fire. Listen, new girl, she was going to tell you that I humped one of the poles on the playground. She was going to warn you that you were sitting next to a pole-humper. There, it's out there. Now shutup Jenny and leave me alone."

Jenny sat back down. I don't think I saw her whisper again for the rest of the year. The new girl, whose name I have forgotten, stared straightforward during the rest of the day, determined not to make eye contact with either of us. I don't remember her saying more than two words that year.

The next day I remember seeing that the whispers had died down, but the looks of resentment and disgust remained. All of my classmates looked down on me, except for one. It was the other new girl. I saw her quietly playing by herself underneath one of the big trees that just bordered a wooded area behind our school. The wooded area was one of my favorite places to play. I decided that as I passed by, I would say hello to her and introduce myself.

She was a thicker girl, but not fat. She seemed to be very strong, as I saw her split pretty thick pieces of branch in two with her bare hands. Her face was moon shaped, and her eyes were big and brown. As I walked towards her she smiled, and I thought that, besides her strength, she looked to be very sweet and gentle.

"Hi, my name is Heather. What's yours?"
"I'm Andrea. I just moved here. My dad's in the army and he was just transferred here."
"Oh really? That's cool. Say, there's this tree in the woods there that I throw sticks at while pretending their ninja stars. Wanna come join?"
"Fuck'n A! Let's wreck that shit, bitch!"
"...Um...scuse me?"
"We'll tear that tree a new asshole!"
"Good GOD."

I stared at here with admiration, as if she had just turned into the Holy Grail. My mind had been opened. She made me realize that cuss words not made for just anger, but they were meant weave a tapestry of the whole spectrum of human emotion. I was enlightened.

"Where...did...you learn to talk like that?"

"Uh, my dad's in the army, duh!"

And that was it. We gathered as many "ninja stars" as we could hold in our arms, and cursed the shit out of that motherfucking tree.

I wouldn't want to say that Andrea was a bad influence by any means. She helped me learn to speak my mind in new ways. Ways that made me feel uplifted and unashamed. I wasn't stupid though; I knew my parents were not as enlightened as me, and so I held off on unleashing my proverbial palette of profanity upon them.

Andrea and I became good friends over the coming months, until one fateful slumber party. She had invited me to spend a Friday night at her place, and I was at the age where nothing, absolutely nothing, was better than a slumber party. My sentiment completely changed after that Friday night.

Andrea's home life was, for lack of a better term, completely fucked up. To start the night off, Andrea's father asked me if I were allowed to watch movies with "women’s chests." Thinking he meant a beach movie with women in bikinis (perhaps "Weekend at Bernie's") I unwittingly said yes. We then began to watch what I would come to know in the future as a softcore porno. I should also mention that Andrea had a mentally challenged sister who would shout "Tits! Tits! Tits!" every time the movie showed boobs.

Then dinnertime came. Andrea was passing out some rice and she accidentally spilled some on the table. Her dad began to whip her viciously with a belt for her mistake. At that point I sort of mentally checked out. I felt helpless and bewildered, and everything seemed surreal. I wanted to rush into bed so that the morning would come sooner. Once dinner was over, Andrea bounced out of her chair (apparently recovered from her lashing) and shouted "Bath time, bitch!!" She grabbed my hand and dragged me upstairs. She threw a towel in my face and said, "You can take your bath first! Bathroom is down the hall."

I ran into the bathroom and closed the door. My mind was ablaze with the insanity that had occurred in the past few hours. I decided a bath would be the best thing to calm me, so I disrobed and hopped in the tub. Just as I was about to immerse my head, I received the shock of a lifetime.

"Surprise! Slumber Bathtime!" Andrea screamed as she burst through the bathroom door completely naked and holding a can of Coca Cola. She ran into the bathtub and screamed, "You look dirty! Time for your Coke bath!" And she proceeded to empty out the can of Coke on my head. And this is where I snapped.

I jumped out of the bathtub and ran my head under the sink, all the while shouting the most colorful of curse words in her general direction. I put my clothes on as fast as I could and ran out of the bathroom into one of the bedrooms. I searched the second floor for a phone in total desperation, but there was none to be found. I knew there was a phone in the kitchen, but I heard screaming noises coming from there. I wanted to crawl out the window and run home, but I didn't know the way. I stopped myself at the top of the stairs, dumbfounded was to what I should do. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned around and Andrea stood there in a pink robe.

"I'm sorry I freaked you out, bitch. Let's just get some fucking shuteye."

I walked cautiously back to her room. She let me have the bottom bunk of her bed, and I was grateful, because I knew that would allow for easier escape. I don't think I slept a wink that night.

The next morning was weirdly quiet. I waited near the garage door, eager to hear my mom’s car engine. When she did arrive, I did something I hadn't done in a long time. I ran to her and I hugged her, I was determined not to let her go.

"Oh hi there, Mrs. Borra!" said Andrea's father. "We loved having Heather over last night. In fact, she's welcome to stay tonight as well if she wants!"

My mom took a quick glance of Andrea's family and then she looked down at me. She could see the tears beginning to wellup in my eyes.

"I'm sorry sir, but we've got a family event planned for this evening. It was nice meeting you all!"

I hugged her all the way back to the car.

After that, Andrea's and my friendship was on eggshells at best. Eventually we stopped hanging out all together. The weird thing is, I didn't really realize how seriously disturbed Andrea's home life was until much later. This is probably why a lot of abuse goes unreported. Kids just think it is normal because adults are causing the abuse and what adults do is always right. Each time I passed her house in recent years, I wished I could go back and save Andrea from her wretched home life, rather than just running away from it. But now I'm smarter and stronger. However, I still curse a goddamned motherfucking blue streak.

NaNoWriMo Begins

This year I've decided to participate in NaNoWriMo. I have to write about 1700 words a day for the entire month of November. Today I wrote 3000 words. I purposely did not go out tonight, which is really saying something being that I'm a desperately single female.

To assist me in my literary journey, I bought an iPod touch. It is much cheaper than a laptop or an iPhone, and I need to replace my old iPod anyway. It has almost changed my life. When I went to sleep on the first night I had it, I cuddled with it. For the first time in nearly two years I did not feel the intense yearning for human companionship as this little miracle device had satisfied that need.

Those last two sentences are completely fictional.

I don't know why NaNoWriMo chose November. It's the beginning of the holiday season, so people are naturally immensely busy. I foresee this being a very stressful month, being that I have numerous projects at work, several social events, several family events (including a Thanksgiving/birthday party in which there will be 87 attendees), and several other little personal projects to attend to (like getting my first date in nearly two years).

All that said, I think I can do it. I perform very well under stress. There has only been a few times when I nearly fall off the edge, but then something miraculous happens, and I'm pulled back into the true wonders of reality. Something like this happened just the other day.

I walk the same route to work every morning. I enjoy walking to work because it gives me time to listen to music and think about my life, though they may not be the most pleasant of thoughts. Each day I walk across the same bridge, and on this same bridge is always the same homeless man. Most homeless people in this area are very transient, but not this one. Everyday he lifts his cup of change in my direction, and everyday I ignore him. At first, I ignored him because I never had any change on me. Now I ignore him no matter what is in my pocket.

Lately I've been seeing a shriveled old homeless woman walking around this same area. At first I didn't know she was homeless, she just looked slightly disheveled. Then as days passed I noticed that she never changed clothes and she was always in hanging around the same general area. Also, she always wore a thick, dirty winter coat, no matter what the weather was like. The coat was similar to one I had back in the 80s, when I was nine. I never see this woman beg, but I have seen her foraging through trash.

On Friday morning I was in a particular funk. I hadn't been feeling well lately, and I was thinking about the utter misery that is my nonexistent love life. I was really feeling horrible, and as I came upon the bridge I secretly wished that the homeless man weren't there so I wouldn't have to deal with him. As I started crossing the bridge, I noticed that homeless woman was standing in front of the seated homeless man and bending down towards him. She was talking to him, and he was stoically listening. Then something astounding happened.

As the woman was talking, the man reached into a cup, pulled out a fistful of change and handed it to her. Her body still bent, she shoved the money into her coat pocket. Just before she straightened, I saw a single but large tear drop from her eye.

I felt sick with myself. I just saw and extreme act of pure human kindness, and only moments before I was wallowing in self pity. I wanted to pour everything out of my pockets and shower it on these people. I wanted to buy them a feast every day for the rest of their lives. I wanted to put them a castle in the sky, with huge fireplaces and silky soft beds so that they may never sleep in the cold or lie on the pavement ever again. But my pockets were empty and I had not a scrap of food on me. I also felt that this was a private moment, something that neither one wanted anyone to witness. But I felt I was meant to witness this. I felt some force had propelled me to this occurrence so I could see that even most degraded person has goodness within them.

Next time I see either one of them, I will buy them some food, maybe give the some money. I will ask them their names. I will say hello each time I see them.

The Purging

Now that I no longer have a car, I find myself fiddling with my phone a lot more. This is because I often find myself bored at a bus stop or train station, or I fiddle with it to avoid eye contact with homeless people as I walk to work. The other day I noticed that my photo memory was nearly full, so I realized I need to cull some of the photos. Before I do that, however, I would like to immortalize some of them on this blog.

I had about four billion pictures of my cat, but this one was the cutest:
















I found this note stuck in a bible at church on Christmas Eve last year:
















This what my car looked like after the accident:
















These next two pictures are from my indoor garden (an eggplant and a strawberry, respectively):





























Because I have a really juvenile sense of humor, I had to take these next two photos. The first one I took at metro station and the second one at a grocery store:




























Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the world's gayest doughnut:
















Now this following picture represents the pinnacle of assholery:
















I posted this picture on craiglist, along with his license plate number and a short description of how I saw the driver rape a nun while giving the finger to the American flag.

This picture of an incredibly useful and insightful poster was taken at a warehouse bathroom:












Once upon a time I got really bored at a meeting, so I drew a picture of my cat with a black belt in karate, nunchucks, and a beer:















This is what my cat looks like in real life:

Not Dead, Just Sleeping

So much for lazy summers. In case you are wondering where I've been, here's a list of what I've been up to this summer:

-working on a proposal
-vacationing in a place with no Internet access
-gardening
-working on another proposal (almost nonstop for three weeks)
-traveling to deliver said proposal
-getting into a car accident
-taking vacation to recover from said car accident, again in a place with no Internet access
-finding out that muscle relaxers cause me to drool profusely while sleeping
-taking more vacation, again in a place with no Internet access, sharing said muscle relaxers with friends

I've been planning to write an entry that was about my text messaging habits, but my phone (which I would need for reference) is currently dead. So instead I've decided to write a list of things that have not, and never will, live up to the hype that the general public gives them:

1) Moulin Rouge. If you take away the hackneyed covers and the cliche story, you'd find that this movie is nothing but a turd with some pink glitter on it.
2) Tofu. People say you can make tofu taste like anything. This is because tofu has no taste. You may be able to change the taste, but it will always have the texture of wet boogers.
3) Chipotle. Seriously folks? Seriously?
4) Robaxin. This is the muscle relaxer my doctor prescribed me. It sucks ass.
5) Cars. Mine was just totaled. Now that I don't have one, I realized what a life-sucking money pit it was.
6) Quentin Tarantino movies. All of them.
7) The Da Vinci Code.
8) Revenge of the Sith. This movie got 80 percent on rottentomatoes.com. For shame.
9) Jack Black. The art of making fat + manic= funny died with Chris Farley.
10) Most anime.
11) Humus.

I HAVE A FAN!

An "unknown" assailant has been commenting up a storm on my blog....and I love it! Also, this assailant has said that they are running out of posts to read on my blog, so I will post more. Soon. I promise.

To entertain you in the meantime, here is a series of random Garfield frames that I spliced together:

My extremely intensive and extensive review of Indiana Jones 4

Shia Lebouf is kinda hot in a leather jacket. But not 10-dollars-for-a-ticket hot.


Grade: F--

Pissing In The Woods

“I was almost shot once.”

Sometimes I find myself saying this phrase aloud at times when I find the current conversation boring. Most of the time the lifeless communal “dialog” is due to only one person. Everyone knows this type of person. This is the friend that everyone has; the person who absorbs conversations so that it wraps completely around them. It’s the friend that gushes about every meaningless detail of his or her existence. You are only friends with the person because you have no reason to truly hate them. They just bore you. They’ll trail on about the new socks they found at the Gap. They’ll deliver manifestos about how much they love bagels. They’ll present an oral thesis on how good their gas mileage is. The other people that might be “engaged” in this conversation are either too bored or not creative enough to protest the wasted words. They are just awake enough to feign interest.

When I utter these five words, a ripple effect quickly spreads throughout the room. It’s as if every person has just received his or her first breath of air while simultaneously receiving an electric shock. These brightening expressions give me a brief feeling of self-satisfaction. Even more so, I always find the expression from the brainless babbler supremely arousing. Call it petty, but I believe the energy-sucking prattler should be put in his or her place. I see it as a public service. I’m not saying that I’m a terribly interesting person. However, I do know what is and isn’t interesting. I know this story is supremely interesting for one simple reason: it is, unabashedly, true.

It is next impossible to tell this story without first explaining some my family dynamics. My mother is an incredibly successful businesswoman. She is fantastically smart, sharply organized, and shrewdly ambitious. What is so off-kilter is that, thanks to these attributes, she has overcome one major flaw. My mother has a secret, but powerful handicap: she is the world’s worst decision-maker.

“Heather, don’t you think it would be a fun idea to visit Ocean City next month?”

“You mean during Christmas? Mom, you want to spend Christmas at a summer resort?”

“Well, yes indeedy! I think it would be fun! There will be plenty of stuff to do!”

“But mom, everything there is closed in the winter.”

“DON’T ARGUE WITH ME YOUNG LADY!”

Every year we would leave early due to mind-boggling boredom.

She repeated this mistake for several years, until finally her mind was set straight when she got into a car accident (in my car) and the local police officer treated her like a bowl of seagull shit. I have inherited a diminished version of this flaw. Instead of trips to the beach, my mistakes involve trips to the grocery store. About once a year I will buy soy-based mayonnaise and try to convince myself it will taste just like the real thing. Someday, hopefully, I will learn that I can’t outwit my taste buds.

One of the pinnacles of my mother’s lack of decision-making prowess was reached on a brisk August night. We were driving home from our family’s timeshare on Bryce Mountain in the Shenandoah Valley. My mother as looking at the map, and she noticed that we were very close to the location of her company’s team building event that was to be held the following week. It was to be held in wooded plot of land in the middle of Fredericksburg; a town whose human population is very closely rivaled by its cattle population. So my mother decided that the best thing to do at 10 o’clock at night was to drive into the uncharted territory of Nowheresville, USA.

We got off the highway and ended up on an unlit back-country road whose asphalt paving was the only sign that it had been visited in the past fifty years. After twenty miles or so, my mother, brother, and I were all hit by the exact same urge at the exact same time. We all had to, at that very moment, take the biggest leaks of our lives. It was as if the urine fairy gave us all a tap at the same time with her three yellow wands. My mother pulled off on to a tiny dirt road, and she and my brother shot off into the dark woods. I, however, was way more timid, and decided I would try to hold it until we got back to civilization. My mother, with her aforementioned flaw, came to a different conclusion.

“Get your ass out of the car,” she exclaimed while zipping up her trousers.

“It may be a helluva long time before you get to piss again, so get out and pop a squat!”

“But moooooom, we have no idea where we are. I could be pissing in some guy’s rose garden for all I know. I can’t see my hand in front of my face!” My logic seemed lost on her.

“Get out of the goddamned car right now! If it’s too dark for you, just piss somewhere in the light of the headlights.”

Most mothers seem to have no concept of privacy when it comes to their children. My mother is not exempt from this. When we are shopping for clothes, she opens the door to my dressing room without knocking, and often leaves the door wide-open.

“I’m not pissing in front of you and Chris! Fine, I’ll just find a spot in those things that look like bushes.”

I walked deeper into the woods to where I could not be heard or seen by my mother. As I walked through the brush I debated whether or not I should fake taking a leak and hold it until we reached a fast food restaurant.

What happened in the next few seconds totally negated any decision that I was about to make.

As I reached for my belt buckle, I heard a very loud pop. I dismissed it immediately as someone’s tire blowing out in the distance. But then I heard it again. And again. And again, again, again. Then I felt a sharp gust of wind and heard a sound that can only be described as a ptwang. I heard the ptwang sound again, and a leaf just above my head exploded. I realized that someone was firing bullets at me.

I crouched to the ground and ran as fast as I could (not very fast when you are crouching). As I scuffled over the car, my mother rolled down the window, and asked (in a very matter-of-factly tone) “Heather, are you being shot at?”

“FUCKING YES I AM, FUCK, SHIT, AHHHHHHHHHH!”

And then my mother proceeded to drive off. Without me.

I was running at full speed now. I caught up to the car and banged wildly on the windows. My mother slowed the car down, but did not come to a full stop. I tried to open the door. It. Was. Locked. My mother took a moment or two to unlock the door. I half-expected the handle to come off in my hand. Finally, the door was open and I dove into the car.

“DRIVE WOMAN! DRIVE!” And we took off into the night.

My mother laughed the whole way home.

How to Throw a Kick-Ass Make-up Bachelorette Party

A good bachelorette party requires little more than dancing, alcohol, good friends, and just a hint of kinkiness. But for "make-up" bachelorette parties, a little extra spice is required. Not many have heard of make-up bachelorette parties, probably because not many people have participated in one. A make-up bachelorette party, as opposed to its more widely accepted counterpart, takes place after the wedding, either because the original party sucked or didn't take place. Therefore, the now married bride requires a little extra pick-me-up.

My friend Holly's initial bachelorette party took place on a weekend when almost everyone was out of town. Her turnout was so low that she had to combine her party with her soon-to-be husband's bachelor party. They went to dinner at the Melting Pot, a restaurant where you pay through the nose to cook your own food. Afterwards they went to a lame bar or two, got tired, and went home early. She's a good friend, and she's in a good marriage where no jealousy issues are involved, so I knew throwing a make-up bachelorette party was in order. The event occurred this past Saturday, and with this experience I've compiled a list of must-haves for the ultimate make-up bachelorette party.

1) Human excrement. Try to find a steaming pile about the size of a small mountain outside one of D.C.'s finer nightclubs. Bonus points if you save one of your intoxicated friends from slipping in it.
2) Enough alcohol to kill a bison. Split between six small women, of course.
3) Lots of public sex. Don't know where to find this? I suggest some of D.C.'s "higher-end" (pun intended) clubs, mostly because at these clubs, you will find that many of the women are...
4) Prostitutes. Preferably a spectrum of them, from the high-class call girl to the crack-smoking junkie whore. Some of the lower end ones could even qualify for...
5) World's Ugliest Transvestite. Make sure some of your very drunk friends dance with this shemale, not knowing she is sporting a raging hard-on. Also, make sure the transvestite's dancing style resembles the motions of a dummy in a slow-motion crash test video.
6) Pizza.

Budapest

About four months ago, my mother offered to take me on one of her business trips. A PR firm was holding its annual nutrition-centered conference in Budapest in mid-February, and she offered to let me tag along as sort of a late Christmas/early birthday present. Surprisingly, it took a bit of convincing to get me to come. I don't know why I was so apprehensive at the time. It might have been because the most recent trip I had taken with my mother had not turned out quite as well as I had expected. It also might have been because I, like so many of my contemporaries, had very little knowledge of Budapest.

Around Christmas time, something in my brain snapped. I remember thinking "What am I thinking? It's a FREE trip to a European city for christsake!"

I left a voicemail for my mom early one morning saying I would be happy to join. I was biting my nails the rest of the day, hoping to God that it wasn’t too late. I got a call from her later that day and she told she was trying to secure a ticket for me. Ironically enough, I was in a Barnes and Noble at the time waiting in line to purchase a travel book on Budapest. As luck would have it, she was able to cash in her frequent flyer miles for my ticket, and the PR firm allowed the invitees to bring guests for a small fee. So my hotel and plane ticket were practically free. When I returned home from Barnes and Noble that night I read the book nearly cover to cover.

After reading the guidebook, I decided to set some goals for this trip. I knew that it would be a long time before I would be able to go on a vacation like this again. This trip had potential for some intense isolation and self-discovery, so the goals I made were built around that. I am happy to say that I was able to fulfill most of my goals. They were as follows:

Goal # 1) Take night photographs- Check.

I was able to borrow a tripod so I could test out some night photography.

This was our hotel, Four Seasons Gresham Palace. This hotel was the Four Seasons of Four Seasons.

This is Szechenyi Chained Bridge. It was the first permanent bridge built across the Danube in Budapest.

Detail of the bridge.

This is the Royal Palace in the Castle District. It houses the National Gallery.

This is a statue of Deak Ferencz, an important Hungarian statesman.

Goal # 2) Visit a Turkish bath- Check.

This is the Szechenyi bathing complex, which houses one of Budapest’s biggest outdoor baths. The word “furdo” means spa in Hungarian. It also has indoor baths, saunas, and steam rooms. It was a gorgeous complex. It was very opulently decorated, like a palace. Here is some of the detail of the lobby:

Goal # 3) Meet new people-Check.

The smart-looking lady is Lisa and the handsome devil to her right is Rob. We met at a lecture about Hungarian food one the first day of the conference. Rob and Lisa were traveling with Rob’s mom. I spent a lot of time with these folks. Lisa was a sweet and enthusiastic individual, and Rob was funny and affable. Lisa and I shared an affinity for all things hippy-like, and Rob and I shared an affinity for a fine glass of scotch. Since both of these of these folks are from California, they both…

…love drinking wine. We had a great time together.

I also had the pleasure of meeting Sandra. She is probably the most delightfully entertaining and interesting person I’ve met in quite awhile. She was traveling with her cousin Keisha, who was also attending the conference.

Goal # 4) Try new foods and eat a lot -

That’s a big check.

Goal # 5) Take at least two pictures that I am very happy with- Check.

Goal # 6) Buy Absinthe- Check.

I bought two small bottles of Pere Kermann's brand. I bought one for me and one for my brother.

Goal # 7) Try palinka.- Check.

I tried some in the hotel bar. Unfortunately, it was too dark to take any pictures. The drink was very similar to grappa, and had the propensity to be just as disgusting.

Goal # 8) Have a one-night stand.

I’ve never had one before, and, to sound ever-so cliché, I’m not getting any younger, therefore, time is running out. Having a no-strings-attached fornication session in a beautiful foreign country with a hot guy who I would never see again seemed like the way to do it. I don’t have pictorial evidence of this, not only because I’m a lady and would never post such things, but also because it didn’t happen. All the good-looking men I saw on this trip were either taken, gay, didn’t speak a word of English, or just didn’t seem interested. So that’s a big UNCHECK.

Accomplishing seven out of the eight goals was awesome. I knew goal # 8 was pretty far-fetched anyway, and I just sort of threw it in half-jokingly. The other seven goals were necessary for a well-rounded cultural experience.

In conclusion, this trip will be remembered as one of the most luxurious and breathtakingly beautiful experiences of my life. I guess what I’ve learned from this voyage is to never, under any circumstances, turn down a free trip to a European city.

If you would like to see more photos from my trip, please visit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/68109917@N00/sets/72157603956509052/show/

With Sincere Regards

Sadly, Heath Ledger, who starred in two of the diddleworthy movies I mentioned in my last post, has passed.

I must say that I am more than a little shocked. The natural things that happen to us seem so unnatural, especially when someone so young is ripped away. It's almost as if, and bear with me on this one, the events that were supposed to happen in a parallel universe got shuffled up and accidentally happened in ours. In this other universe, the talented people of our generation are living long and fruitful lives that almost too slowly fade into the night, whilst in our universe they are extinguished when their light is at its brightest.

It's possible that everyone has a parallel self that is in some way immortal. I take a slight comfort in this theory. Some might call these everliving versions of ourselves merely their twin in different situation. I like to think of them as our souls.

RIP Mr. Ledger.

Diddlefest '08

A few years ago some female friends and myself made plans to go see the movie "Troy" despite it receiving horrid reviews. We made these plans because A) this movie had several hot men in it and B) these hot men would be doing several hot things, i.e. wearing gladiator-esque outfits, wrestling each other, etcetera.

I jokingly referred to the event as "Diddlefest '04" because I knew that many of us would feel the urge to whip out our lady bits and go to town right there in the theatre. This phrase has now been coined for any movie that A) has two or more famously hot young men and B) has these men doing hot things, possibly together. Since this initial event, several movies have fit this category. Here are some examples by year:

2004-Troy, as mentioned above
2005-Brokeback Mountain, I thought about bringing plastic sheets to this one
2006- This was a shitty year for diddleworthy movies, and a shitty year for movies in general. Bear in mind, however, that I have not seen "The Departed".
2007-300

And my prediction for Diddlefest '08 is......

*opens envelope*

THE DARK KNIGHT!

Please let me know if I've missed any movies in the years mentioned above. I know there have been several diddleworthy movies prior to or around 2004. Here are a few that are worth mentioning:

Fight Club (1999)
Velvet Goldmine (1998)
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005)- don't ask

*Edit*- I would like to add that in order for a movie to be diddleworthy, the famously hot men have to look famously hot within that movie. Case in point:

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998)- This does not qualify as diddleworthy, despite it starring two very hot men: Johnny Depp and Benicio Del Torro. This is because Benicio Del Torro looks more bloated than a balloon at a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, and Johnny Depp looks like, well, like Hunter S. Thompson.

My New Boyfriend

I met him a few months ago. My officemate introduced me to him at an Indian restaurant and it was love at first sight.

I love everything about him. He’s rich, he’s smooth, he’s cultured, he smells good, and, most importantly, he satisfies me, if you know what I mean. He is also vegetarian, which is a nice touch.

His name is Malai Kofta, and he is a South-Asian flavor invader. Here is a picture of him.

Doesn’t he look delicious?

In case you haven’t caught on, Malai Kofta is not a person, it is an Indian dish. I’ve gone back to being vegetarian again, and thanks to tasty dishes like this, I may stay that way.

This is my holiday card

You click now!

http://www.elfyourself.com/?id=9626862768

Parts

Sometimes when I’m alone I like to think about the past. I think about people who have entered and exited my life. I think about the times when I was at my happiest. I was a happy child. I was very non-judgmental. I tried to find the fun in every situation. I found that adults were very drawn to me. I started talking at a very young age, so I was easy to communicate with. I would talk to practically anyone.

I remember having many conversations with my Uncle Eddie when I was a child. I spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house in those days, and Uncle Eddie still lived with them. He had a collection of spare radio parts which I found fascinating. I would play with the moving parts and buttons and he would explain what each part did.

He also had a collection of vinyl records and a very old turntable. He would let me take his most precious records out of their sleeves and mount them on to the table, with only the slightest bit of assistance when putting the needle down.

I looked forward to spending time with Uncle Eddie nearly every week. He always had a new gadget to show me, or a new record to test out. At the age of six I felt like Uncle Eddie was my closest friend.

I never wondered much about my Uncle Eddie’s life outside of the radios and the records. I never wonder why he still lived with his parents. I never wondered why my Nana made him sleep with his bedroom door open. I never wondered why I never saw him leave the house, why he never had any friends over, or why he didn’t have a job. At least, I didn’t start to wonder until a few years later.

My visits to my grandparents’ house became more and more infrequent over the years. When I was about 9-years-old I found out that Uncle Eddie was the oldest of all my dad’s siblings. It got me thinking about why a man older than my dad would still live with his parents.

Children always understand more than their parents give them credit for. They hear whispers and under the table conversations. Before they can add, the can put together bits of a conversation to come to conclusions that are not that far from the truth. By the time I was 13-years-old I had finally solved the equation.

Uncle Eddie was a diagnosed schizophrenic. He manifested when he was about 20, and he started to self-medicate. He became addicted to a variety of drugs, which only exacerbated his illness. Consequently, he was never able to hold down a job or a place to live. He stopped taking the drugs, but he never gave up chain smoking. I remember hearing loud coughs in the middle of the night, but I never saw him smoke.

As I became older I found myself wanting to spend less and less time at my grandparents’ house. After I became fully aware of my Uncle Eddie’s past, the image of his life very became very saddening. I became scared that my parents or I could one day end up in the same situation. I didn’t want to think about it.

I avoided conversations with him. He would try to show me his latest radio kit or vintage record, but I would usually just brush him off. I could tell that this would affect him. His brow would crinkle in disappointment and he would shy away. As much as I was depressed by his lifestyle, I was even more depressed and sickened by my own behavior.

At the age of 15 I had a bit of a falling out with my father and his side of the family. I didn’t see Uncle Eddie again until my grandmother was on her deathbed.

When my grandparents died I became worried about who would take care of Uncle Eddie. My aunt told me that all of my grandparents’ assets were liquidated into a fund for Uncle Eddie. My aunt and uncles set him up in an adult community. My great aunt, who suffered a similar affliction, spent a lot of time in a similar community, and I got the impression that it enriched her life.

After hearing this I felt a bit better about my Uncle Eddie’s situation. He would be out of the house; he might make new friends. The fund that was set up for him was not sizeable, but it would be enough to take care of his food, lodging, car and healthcare.

I sort of forgot about him through the rest of college.

The winter after I graduated my aunt invited my mom, brother and I to a holiday dinner. We decided that it would be nice to see everyone.

I was surprised to see Uncle Eddie there. He had gained a lot of weight, his hair was disheveled and his shirt was not buttoned properly. He had a blank, bordering on melancholy, look on his face. Schizophrenia is a degenerative disease, and he had slipped a little further down the slope. At first I felt the same stab of sadness that punctured me when I was thirteen. But then my eye wondered to the woman that was sitting next to him. I had never seen her before. She was wearing a similar façade. I asked my aunt who the woman was. She turned out to be my Uncle Eddie’s new girlfriend.

My mom had been divorced from my dad for nearly seven years at that point, and she had yet to secure a significant other. I feeling began to well up within me. I looked at my Uncle Eddie with joy.

We engaged in some very small talk, mostly about NPR and smoking. He told me that he was trying to quit again. He said he hadn’t attempted to quit again since about 17 years earlier. I would have been about 6-years-old.

After the meal we exchanged a few presents. My aunt always loved to buy me clothes, and she is the one person that knows my taste. The rest of my family gave us checks. My last gift was the most unexpected. Before I got up to get dessert, my Uncle Eddie walked over to me and handed me a small package.

“I remember how you used to say you loved watching movies with your dad,” he said.

I opened the package and inside was a Blockbuster coupon for one free rental.

I stared at the card for a moment. I was very silent for a few moments, which may have come across as disappointment. He gave the same crinkled eyebrow look and began to shy away. I practically screamed thank you at him before he turned away. In those moments of silence I was trying to fight back a waterfall of tears. The emotion caught up with me and became lodged in my throat. When he began to shy away some of that emotion came out.

The rest of the night I had to fight from breaking into tears. I kept thinking about his condition, his fixed income and my cold disposition. He fought through all that to buy me something that linked to a conversation I shared with him as a child. That small blue card was the best Christmas present I have ever received.

I still have it with me to this day. I keep it to remind myself not to judge too harshly. I keep it as a reminder of true kindness.

I Don't Normally Post Internet Quiz Results...

But this one shows how fucking awesome I am:


See What You're Made Of - Visit The Official Site

Watching

The Ravages of Time

It's around that time of year again. It's very close to my birthday. I usually get depressed around this time, and recently I found some pictures that did not help my mood. These pictures made me realize that time does no one any favors.

I was surfing Yahoo News and I came upon this picture of Jim Carrey and Jenny McCarthy:












They say time ravages the face, but I think in this case time replaced Carrey's face with a catcher's mitt.

A couple of days ago I watched the movie "With Honors," which stars Brendan Fraser. After the movie I looked Fraser up on Wikipedia and came across this picture:
























It looks like Fraser traded his hair for an extra chromosome.

Utica Wedding

This weekend I went to my friends' wedding in Utica, New York. I was surprised by how nice the town was. It was surrounded by rolling fields of green, and the town itself had a lot of character. There were not one, but two record shops within walking distance.

It was colder than usual, and I had forgot to bring a jacket, so my friends and I stopped by the Salvation Army. I bought two awesome corduroy blazers, one of them being bright red, which went well with my shiny purple nails.

It made me realize that most of my favorite pieces of clothing were bought in thrift stores. I find that if I shop at thrift stores, I'm more likely to wear something more interesting and risky. If people question my fashion sense, I can always use the thrift store defense, implying that it's better to buy something that's cheap and audacious rather than something expensive and plain.

The wedding was tons of fun. I got to spend a lot of time with good friends, and I got to catch up with some old ones.

You can view a slideshow of photos I took at the wedding here.

I decided to hire a cat sitter for this trip, being that I found it too stressful on myself and my cat to load him up in the car every time. When I got home after the wedding, I found a note on my door that stated something akin to:

“Your cat is fine…..so cute….blah blah still have your key….blah blah stop by later….blah blah I BORROWED YOUR ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT SEASON TWO DVD.”

The emphasis in this statement was added by me.

Some of you might be familiar with this ancient Chinese proverb: “Don’t fuck with another man’s car.”

Some of you may be less familiar with the female equivalent of this proverb, which is: “Don’t fuck with a single woman-who-doesn’t-have-cable-tv’s DVD collection.”

I tried not to get too miffed. After all, she did tell me she borrowed it, despite not asking for real permission. Besides, it was kinda like someone borrowing my bible. Yes, they took it without asking for permission, but it will help convert her to the awesomeness that is the Arrested Development series.

Another Expulsion Article

This one I wrote when Patrick Ramsey was moved from starting to backup quarter back for the Redskins. For those of you don't know, Patrick Ramsey looks like he's twelve years old. This is a point/counterpoint.


No One Takes Me Seriously Anymore, Not Even Coach
by Patrick Ramsey

I can’t stand this anymore. Everyone treats me like a stupid little kid. I keep getting pushed around. I’m constantly bullied on the field, and my offensive doesn’t want to cover me. They think it’s “cute” when I get sacked three times in a row. They laugh so hard they don’t care that we lose to the freaking Cardinals because they got four safeties off us. What does a guy gotta do to get some respect?

Whatever happened to team unity? When I was at Tulane I set over 20 passing records. I couldn’t have done that without the help of my offensive line, who didn’t think it was so funny to see me get knocked on my ass every week.

I try explaining my college success to my fellow ‘Skins, and they mostly laugh and say that I probably fit in well with the other “little college shits.” When I get upset they would offer me some milk and cookies. Lavar Arrington usually offers me a consoling shoulder, and he says it is because the other guys are jealous of my boyish good looks. If that doesn’t cheer me up, he offers to put me down for a nap.

Things briefly changed when Spurrier made me the starter in his last season as Redskins Head Coach. He seemed to be the only team player. But after he left and Coach Gibbs signed on, things went right back to crappy. Gibbs signed on stupid Mark Brunnell, who stupidly sucked throughout the first half of the 2004 season. I guess then Coach decided to give me a real chance and he put me back as the starter. At the time I thought, “Finally, some gosh darn recognition!” For a while, things seemed to only get better.

A month after putting me back in the game, Coach announced that I would be the starting quarterback of the 2005 season. This is where the poop hit the fan again.I guess the guys found it pretty funny that I was the head of the team again. They began bullying moreso than they had ever done before. Every time I get sacked now, Portis looks at me with a fake frown and says “Aww what’s wrong? Are you gonna cry now little girl?” I find this question rather obtuse considering that I’m usually not crying out of pain, but to help reject the cleat spikes that are imbedded in my eyes sockets.

Then came the Bears game. The neck injury I suffered during this game was minor, but Coach saw it fit to take me out and make Mark Brunnell the starter. That Brunnell is such an f-ing a-hole. Out of all the jerks on the team, he is the meanest to me. He says that if I don’t call him “Big Master Daddy” every time he makes a completion, he’ll tell the monsters in my closet to eat my family. Every now and then I hear rumbling noises in my closet, but I swear it is just Santana Moss doing drills.

Well, Hi There, Little Boy! Are You Lost?
By A Teenage Girl

Well aren’t you just the most precious thing I ever saw! You are so cute and sweet I could just eat you up! Now, what is a little guy like you doing in a big, scary stadium like this? I’m here because it’s my little brother’s birthday and he is a big Santana Moss fan. Say, you are probably about my brother’s age. Once we find your parents we should arrange a play date! Oh, little boy, don’t cry. I’ll get you some candy, and then we will find your mommy and daddy. It may take awhile; do you have to go potty? No? You are fully trained right? Well aren’t you a big boy now! If I had any stickers I’d give you a big gold star. So how old are you sweetheart? Oh, you kidder, you couldn’t possibly be 26! You don’t look a day over 8. Gee, this stadium is big, don’t ya think? Well, that’s ok. You can come home with me! You can sleep on the edge of my bed, right next to my cat Mr. Noodles. Do you like kitty cats? Can you spell CAT? Really, oh my what a smart one you are! You are such a sweetie; I must show you to my friends! If you do some tricks for them, I’ll give you a whole shiny quarter. Wouldn’t you like that little guy? You could buy a trading card! Who is your favorite player? Mine is Mark Brunnell. You know, if you eat your vegetables, you could be big and strong like him when you grow up!

Photo Competition and Puerto Rico pictures

I recently entered a photo of mine in The New York Institute of Photography’s Photo Contest. The theme is “Your Hometown: Local Music.”

I took this photo of a bluegrass street band in Old Town Alexandria. If you like it, please vote for it by clicking on the photo below and then clicking on “Vote!”

I also finally uploaded my Puerto Rico pictures. You can view them here.