The Xanax Files

Happy 2011!!!

2011-01-01T18:27:00.002-06:00

Hello? Is there anybody out there??

Well, Blog Readers, here we are, another New Year, another chance to have the Best. Year. Ever.
I'd say that I'm starting this decade pretty much exactly how I want to be. I've got a kick ass husband, a home, and a beautiful daughter. It's been a long hard road getting here, but I'm here. And I'm happy.

Rest assured, however, that my happiness will in no way interfere with my short fuse and desire to share my anger with you, dear Blog readers.

So, Happy 2011 to you.

Excelsior!

So Then There Was This Time I Pushed a Baby Out of Me.

2010-07-16T15:11:00.002-05:00

Hey! Hello? Anybody still out there?
I'm a mom!
And here's the story...reposted from Facebook.
Enjoy!

So, around 4:30 Monday morning I woke up with what felt like some pretty intense cramps that were coming pretty regularly. I thought, "well, I might as well time them." So, I grabbed my trusty iphone (because there's a damn app for that) and got to timing. I told myself that I'd call the doctor if they were still coming in under 10 minutes apart by 7 AM. And woo-hoo! They were. So, I called. Luckily, I live 5 minutes from the doctor's office, so I decided to go in and get checked there rather than drive all the way to the hospital only to be sent home in the event of false labor. I got an appointment at 11:45. No sweat. B-ri and I set to getting our bag packed and he set up the pack and play bassinet just in case...

At the doctor's office we learned that my water had indeed broken, and so it was off to the hospital!

We checked in around 2:30 and made ourselves comfortable for what was about to become a really long 2 days.

The doctor on call came in and told us that I was in "latent labor" and that she didn't expect "active labor" to come on until some time in the wee-hours of the morning. Because my water had broken and they wanted to avoid infection, they also hooked me up to a slow Pitcocin drip to help things along. OK, groovy, I thought, I'll just hang out and when the contractions get too bad, it'll be off to epidural land. I think I lasted about 4 hours. Epidural land is a magical place where dreams are indeed danced. And then we went to sleep.

Around 4:30 AM (my witching hour apparently) they came in to tell me that they were concerned that the pitocin was bothering the baby because her heart rate kept dipping after contractions. So, since I was dilating nicely, they turned off the pitocin.
Around 7:30 I had a 101.9 fever. They started the pitocin again after discovering I had stalled out at 6 1/2 centimeters and now I had an infection. They needed to get the baby moving.
Then my epidural wore off, so the anesthesiologist came in to dose me again. Bliss.
Up until this point, really, I was fine. I was just anxious to get to the pushing. My husband was there, my mom was there, and the team of doctors and nurses was awesome. I wasn't worried.
So, at noon, I made it to 10 centimeters and they told me I was gonna start pushing at 12:30. To give me time to rest (I needed ANOTHER dose of epidural which took forever so, I had about a half hour of reality that I NEVER want to experience again).

12:30...Pushing time. They gave me a crash course in the technique and then my body took over. And from what I could tell, I was doing great. But then they started packing ice packs around me. To get my fever down. Which apparently had spiked to 103. The baby's heart rate was all over the place. Sometimes upwards of 200 bpm and sometimes as low as 106. The doctor was becoming concerned, so she recommended that we use forceps to help her come down into the birth canal. And if that didn't work, then we were going to have to resort to C-section. That's when I started freaking out about brain damage and lack of oxygen and ultimately convinced myself that there was something totally wrong with her. Oh, did I forget to mention the presence of meconium in my amniotic fluid? That’s baby poop. If she were to breathe that in, she’d be in some trouble. Yeah, that too.

So, out came the forceps, I kept pushing and at 2:35 PM Lyla Margaret Brehart was born. All 8 lbs and 6 oz of her. With a FULL head of hair. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to hold her right away. Because of the meconium, they had to make sure she didn't cry right away so that she didn't aspirate any of it. So, they worked on her for about a half and hour...suctioning out her airways, massaging her to get her lungs working. And then there was me.

THOSE WITH ISSUES WITH BLOOD, GORE, AND GENERAL DISCOMFORT AROUND MYSTERIOUS LADY PARTS SHOULD SKIP THIS NEXT PART

I was busy delivering the placenta. Which should have been routine, right? Nope.
I had a 3rd degree tear in my perineum. Also not uncommon. However, even after the repair, I was still bleeding. It was discovered that there were still pieces of the placenta in my uterus. So, they had to do what was basically a manual D&C to get it all out. My epidural at this point had worn off again. So, yeah. I felt all of it. The doctor kept repeating “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” as her had was where no hand had no business being. Ever. When everything was said and done I had lost about 800 cc's of blood. That’s just about 2 pints. Awesome. Then they shot me up with some dilaudid for the pain, which, turned me into a shuffling, drooling “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” mess. And I STILL hadn't held the baby yet.

Then they were done and FINALLY I got to hold her. I was so out of it though I didn't really feel safe holding her. They gave me the side-eye when I refused to hold her in the wheel chair on the way up to my room. I told them, well actually slurred to them “Look, I’m not one of those moms refusing to hold her because I’m trying to avoid her. I honestly just can’t because my body isn’t working right now. Good lord.” So my mom and my husband took over.

Brian was amazing, by the way. He was calm and encouraging throughout the entire experience and I couldn't have asked for a better partner in all of this. He is unbelievable. And my mom got to see her granddaughter born. She had never seen a baby born before and she was beside herself with joy.

So there you have it. It was a harrowing experience, but ultimately a happy one as my daughter is healthy. And gorgeous. And huge. And I can't wait to get to know this new little person we brought into the world.

Some highlights that weren’t actually highlights:

-My regular doctor didn’t actually deliver me. Apparently he wasn’t on call. Even though I delivered on a Tuesday and I was supposed to see him that day and I’ve had appointments with him moved and canceled due to him in surgery or delivery. I guess my crisis wasn’t “crisis-y” enough.
-The doctor who DID deliver me was a total bitch. She told me twice that I needed a better attitude when all I did was ask for more pain meds—which I was told by the nurses was completely acceptable and to NOT wait until it was unbearable.
-The same doctor responded rather nonchalantly with “I hope so” when I asked her if the baby was going to be ok.
-My second anesthesiologist was an asshole. As I’m WRITHING in pain for a half hour, he walks in like it’s no big things and goes “So, what’s going on?” Like I was hassling him or something. When I asked for his recommendation after he spewed a whole bunch of unclear jargon, his response was “I don’t know your pain. I can’t answer that.”
-It took them an hour and 45 minutes to finish all the repairs on my lady parts.
-I am now sitting on a rubber donut.

4 Months Pass And Beer Commercials Featuring "beards".

2010-04-20T07:35:00.005-05:00

Oh, Blog Readers, how I have neglected you! For this, I apologize. I have been busy...gestating. 59 more days until the end of my world as I know it.

Ok, anywho. Since becoming a freelancer, I get a lot of opportunities for "research". And by research, I mean countless hours in front of the television. Countless hours of my slow transformation into an 80 year old man muttering to myself about "kids these days" and their "complicated shoes" and their "half grown beards". Though I was gonna say "sugar drinks" didn't ya?
Well, no. Because I'm here to talk about a different kind of drink today. More specifically, beer. And still more specifically, the commercials that advertise beer.

I'm noticing a trend. Perhaps it's not new. Perhaps it's simply the baby-baking juices coursing through my system that cause me to shake with the rage of a thousand angry Huns.

Bud Light and Coors Light? I'm looking at you.

Bud Light is currently running a campaign where a sloppily groomed group of guys find themselves in situations one wouldn't normally party in, but when Bud Light shows up, BAM, party time! And apparently Bud Light drinkers are complete douchebags. There's one ad in the series...the one featuring the Jeremy Piven Character circa "PCU"—complete with 2 day "he's not sure if he can MAKE that kind of commitment right now but can't be bothered to shave either" beard, striding around a hospital, making smart ass, yet confident faces, barking out orders in an attempt to spread the word about a party in his sick friend's room. HILARIOUS! He oozes self-assurance as he moves through the ward handing out bottles of Bud Light, brah. and then at the end he looks at the female nurses in the room and quips
"Ladies...nurse outfits...I LIKE it."
BWAHAHAHAHAAAAA! Mysogyny is AWEsome. I better act dumb or that really cute guy won't think I'm hot. Gross.

Then there's Coors Light. This one shows us a couple of guys hanging out at an apartment. But what's this? There's a contraption in the fridge that allows you TAPPED BEER AT HOME for up to 30 DAYS! Suddenly, a bartender shows up. Then a cocktail waitress kindly changes out the snack bowls on the coffee table.
"Dude" says one.
"I know" says the other.
"But what does your girlfriend have to say about this?"
Ok, can I stop for a second? First off, why would she care? Personally, if my living room suddenly sprouted a full bar staff, I'd be fucking thrilled. But, apparently, in the world of beer commercials aimed at the 21-34 demographic, girlfriends just don't "get it" and are "a pain in the ass".

So, we cut to an external shot of the building where a bouncer is checking a clip board and telling the girlfriend that she's "not on the list". Really? Ok. Hey, boyfriend on the couch? Remember how I let you put your dick in my mouth? Yeah, that was nice wasn't it? Too bad I'm not on the fucking list. Later, Brah.

THAT's how that would end. In real life.

But in Beer Ad Land, another douchebag friend comes to the door, blows past the bouncer and the girlfriend is left sulking on the sidewalk.

So, what's my problem you ask? Since when have beer ads EVER been nice to women?
Look, I'm not naive. I worked on Miller Lite for the better part of a year. The "Get Lucky With Great Taste" signage you saw all over bars this St. Pat's? That was mine. I wrote that. I get what sells beer.

But I also know that guys who look like they smell bad and treat their girlfriends badly start to make me think that I'm glad my husband doesn't drink Bud Light OR Coors Light. And if he did, I'd start thinking to myself, "Seriously? He's one 2 day beard and a dirty t-shirt away from the curb."

"But, LC, these Ads aren't TALKING to you." Say the Creative Teams. "They're talking to young college aged guys (of legal drinking age, of course) who are just developing their confidence in their chosen groups. We're trying to speak to that inner partier inside them. The one that's carefree, smart, quick-witted and attractive to women even though he's not a striped shirt wearing, upwardly mobile member of society. He's 'every-guy'". Sigh. And it's that last label that makes me sad for the creative teams behind these pieces of garbage.

Because in reality, what "every-guy" WOULDN'T want a chick who drinks Coors Light right along with him? Who watches sports, plays cards, and embraces his inherent "guy-ness"? There are women like that out there. I know. I'm one of them. But, Beer advertisers would have us believe that women are a nuisance. They are to be tolerated and somewhat feared and therefore to be deceived...in manner of a 5 year old lying to his mommy about breaking something he shouldn't have been messing with in the fancy part of the house.

Ah well. I suppose they AREN'T talking to me. Or my husband. But they ARE talking to an impressionable group of mouth-breathers who will take these ads at face value and say "Dude. That's AWESOME."

And here's what's gonna happen. When my daughter grows up, one of the little nuggets of advice I'm going to give...
"Beware the man who eschews shaving for more than 2 days in your presence, sleeps on a single bed minus a mattress pad, and doesn't bother with dressing in anything more than a clearly dirty pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I don't care how "funny" he is. Run. Run screaming in the other direction. You will thank me later."

I can't wait to be a mom.

Goddamnit, Teri Hemmert

2010-01-31T17:33:00.002-06:00

Well, I literally got through 3 songs on XRT's Breakfast with the Beatles this morning before loudly telling Teri Hemmert to fuck off and changing the station.

Seriously. Here I am, driving back from O'Hare after dropping B-ri off at Air Canada, and up pops Breakfast with the Beatles. And I'm all like, "AWESOME! Nothing but Beatles...the womb-dweller will LOVE this".
Oh, how quickly I do forget.
We started off strong with Rubber Soul's "I'm Looking Through You". I'm smiling and singing and hoping the womb creature wakes up and starts moving around. I'm all pumped about what's gonna be up next...
It's some 9 minute Paul McCartney shit the bed solo suck fest.
I suffer through it thinking the next one will SURELY be a reliable Beatles classic. NOPE. Some weird ass I'm not even kidding elevator version of With a Little Help From My Friends.
I'm sorry, I thought I was listening to Breakfast with the Beatles. Not Breakfast with Paul McCartney's craptastic solo career and random inconsequential cover bands.

Fuck you, Teri Hemmert.
And fuck you, Breakfast with the Beatles.

2010- The Year I Become Somebody's Mother

2010-01-01T10:47:00.002-06:00

Good morning 2010, I greet you clear headed and sober. How very novel.
And it is quite a beautiful morning indeed.

We had a low-key shin-dig here at the house, I haven't cleaned anything yet, and I'm eating leftover hummus.

And yes, in 6 months, I will be a mom. Holy shit.
What's hilarious is that most of the resolutions I would have made this year have already been done.

Quit smoking. Check.
Quit drinking. Check.
Eat better...welll...
Lose weight...HA.

So, I start 2010 not hungover, with a wonderful husband, a cat, a house, and a baby on the way.

Wow.

Ah Rainy Days and Upset Stomachs...

2009-11-18T14:48:00.002-06:00

Well, For those of you that still read this nonsense, word is, Blog Readers, your dear lady of the Xanax Files has come up pregnant. Yep, Hawaii proved to be a powerful place of fertility and as of this Friday I will be 10 weeks along. 2 weeks shy of my second trimester. Now, let's not get all "OMG THAT'S OSSOME ARE YOU SOOOOOOOO EXCITED"??? because I'm just not in the damn mood.

What I AM in the mood for, is to make fun of the movie that's currently blasting its way through my tv box:
Nights in Rodanthe.

Here's what I know so far:
Diane Lane is a mother of two, separated from her husband. Now, I knew this was a love story...because the trailers told me it was, and because of Richard Gere in all of his suede coat brownness. But what I DIDN'T know was that this movie was going to make it very easy for me not to like Richard Gere in many, many ways. From his "I am clearly upset about something" method of stomping around acting, to the fact that CHRISTOPHER FUCKING MELONI is Diane Lane's soon to be ex-husband, who as it turns out, wants to come back home! So....um....weird aging ambiguously gay perpetual mullet guy? Or ELLIOT FUCKING STABLER?
I think you know where I'm going with this.

But let's dive in, shall we?
OK, so apparently, after Stabler asks Diane to let him come home, she has a good ol' down home talk with her black friend who tells her in so many "GIRL?"s that Stabler is no good for her no how. He cheated on her apparently and oh, wasn't really there for her when her dad died. Sorry, I'm still on Team Stabler. Anyhoo, she can't make any decisions now anyway because she has to rush off to help her friend at her Bed and Breakfast on the beach (I'm guessing it's...Rodanthe?") where Richard "Angry Pants" Gere is the only guest on the list.

Let me give you a peek into the Angry World of Captain Cranky. He arrives at the B&B on the Beach, slams in the door, leaves it open and impatiently rings the bell at the desk. When no one answers in like the speed of sound, he starts yelling "HELLO" stomping all over the house, throwing aside charmingly whimsical beaded curtains while bellowing about whether there's somebody HERE. He then finds Ms. Lane shedding some single tears on the back porch where she jumps to and starts the welcome wagon. Gere is a prick(but clearly tortured) and she tells him dinner is at 7:30. Well, actually, he tells her because that's when it's good for him.
Cut to him on the beach ANGRILY talking on his cellphone in what is symbolism for his anger. I mean, srsly u guyz, how angry he must be be that the beauty and majestic tranquility of the beach can't calm his frayed, tortured nerves. What SAVING he needs!!!

Anyway, it's dinner time, and in an attempt by the directors to make Gere's unapproachable boor be ...approachable, he comes barging into the much more awesome atmosphere of the kitchen to eat, because he doesn't want to eat alone. And there's jazz playing.

OK, so then Diane Lane goes on to reveal way too much about her personal life while Richard Gere eats angrily. And then Richard reveals that he has a son. Angrily. A doctor. Ah, so...he is estranged from his son. Oh, and apparently, Mr. Gere is between homes right now.

Later, after Richard goes to bed and Diane takes a walk, we see her on the phone checking in at home having all kinds of problems with her ex not holding down the fort properly ie, letting their son go to bed without taking his asthma medication. And she does NOT want to hear anything about how much Stabler loves her.

Then we get treated to a flashback hinting to why Sour Puss is so Sour. Seems that he himself was/is a doctor who I'm guessing botched up a routine surgery and either killed someone, or maimed somebody. How and why remains a mystery, but what IS revealed is that Richard is in Rodanthe to see someone connected with the incident. The meeting went...badly and Richard hightails it back to the B&B on the beach and where he forces Diane Lane to let him help her carry some 2x4's up the stairs so he can drop them angrily. Diane goes into town to "get supplies" and by "get supplies" I mean "get the dirt on what happened to the crazy man at her B&B on the beach." Ultimately he gets the opportunity to tell her that a routine cyst removal on some old lady resulted in her implausibly dying on the table. So Diane wraps up the conversation with "Let's Grill some Salmon!"

Cut to an intimate dinner and exchange of kid stories. He tells more about how he fucked up the surgery and how his son has no respect for him and then Diane takes him upstairs to some "studio" read "Junk room" where we learn about the spirits that guided the actual owner's grandmother or some other shit. And a bunch of nonsense about a box and driftwood and memories of my father. All of this is so overwrought I could just puke. And it's entirely possible given my delicate fucking condition. I don't know. She's lamenting about "what she has left" and I keep seeing her very nice house and her Elliot Stabler husband, and I'm unconvinced that her life really needs all that much re-examining. Cheating be damned.
So, then her movie-emo-daughter calls and inserts herself in the middle of her parents' reconciliation. Goddamnit. Cuz now it looks like Stabler has been using his kids to get to his wife. BAD FORM.
So, it's time for Diane to drink about about a bottle of Jack Daniels and get this, throw out old food in the pantry. This scene goes on for at least 3 cutaways. And then she has to go to bed.

Next day, Hurricane Warning! DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUN!!!! Which means he has to stay.
Ugh, then the husband of the dead lady shows up to find out what happened. It was an anesthesia problem. Nothing to do with the surgery. And Richard says as much, but everyone (including Diane) is mad at him because he doesn't FEEL IT enough. What? Goddamnit. This movie is terrible.
Now we're talking about her and her choices.
And the storm gets stronger!!!!
The phones are out!
There are storm shudders still open!!
THE POWER GOES OUT!
OMG!
FOR SOME REASON A CHINA CABINET COMPLETLY AWAY FROM ANY WINDOW FALLS OVER GIVING RICHARD AND OPPORTUNITY TO SAVE DIANE FROM A CRUSHING INJURY!
Then they do it to some weird cello soundtrack.

Next morning, it's time to assess the damage. Literally and figuratively. Richard awakes alone and goes to find Diane. There's a lot of crap all over the beach. Diane reveals that her son had an asthma attack over night and SHE WASN'T THERE!! SHE HAS RESPONSIBILITIES. MAYBE YOU DON'T GET THAT RICHARD, BEING A GODDAMNED DOCTOR AND ALL!
Whatever. So I guess now, Richard goes over to the dead lady's husband's house again to try and really feel it. Which I guess means sitting down and listening to this guy talk about his dead wife's eyes and when they met. What all this really means is that these people need some crisis counseling, because they want someone to blame. I'm gonna soapbox here for a minute. How dare these people assume that Richard didn't feel badly about what he had done...well, actually what he DIDN'T have anything to do with. Christ in the sky.
So....now, all better, they walk on the beach and get ready for some crab cracking party. I should take this opportunity to point out that Richard Gere is NOT aging well at all.
And cue boisterous party complete with local dance music.
And cue spinning kiss montage that actually made me dizzy....and into sensitive piano lovemaking scene.
I do not have high hopes that Stabler's coming out on top in this one. Damnit. Not after this terrible naked map viewing nonsense where Richard does the whole "here's a tree" and kisses her ear bullshit.
I hate this movie.
So, Richard is leaving and it takes forever. And Diane takes another long walk under a pier (HA!) and picks up some fucking driftwood.
Back at home, Stabler walks out angrily.
Diane isn't taking him back, movie emo daughter is PISSED and now will begin a long descent into a life of hard drugs and prostitution.
Now we get a goddamned letter writing montage while she makes a driftwood box.
Hooray! He's coming home from where ever he was!
And I'm sensing something bad is going to happen. The plane didn't crash...hmmm. What could it be?
She's frantically calling to find out why he's stood her up.
What Happened, Diane?
Then his son shows up instead of him. Is he dead?
Yep. Died in a fucking mudslide.
Blog Readers, I'm here to tell you. I am a pregnant hormonal mess. I cry during the Simpsons for Christ's sake. But this shit isn't doing a goddamned thing. Ah yes, his Medical Spanish dictionary clutched to her chest is just a heartwrenching moment indeed.
Movie emo daughter comes in and sees Diane all fucked up and sad, and cue to to her "takin' charge."
Oh my god. There are totally too many relationships that need fixing and closure in this goddamned flick. I give up.

So, the moral of the story, as told by Diane to the movie emo daughter is that there is a kind of love that transcends all others and makes you brave and that you should hold out for it....especially when it ends in a mud-slidey death. That's the best kind.
Oh yeah.
And then you see some rare ponies or some shit.

That's pretty much it.
I mean, there's a few more scenes of Diane walking around in soft sunlight breathing deeply through her nose a lot, but that's pretty much it.

And did I mention I was pregnant?

Ahhhh Married...

2009-10-25T12:59:00.002-05:00

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. I said I was retiring. But who knew that a month and some change of married life would reap such a wealth of material.
From the honeymoon to my triumphant return to freelance writing AND rehearsals for shows, it has certainly been an eventful few weeks.

Plus, there's the obscene amounts of stupidity we're seeing in the news each and every day. Jon and Kate, The goddamned balloon kid, Facebook politics...I mean, suddenly there's just so much to be angry about!

PSA: The term "fuck face" isn't applied to people nearly enough anymore.

Stay tuned.

My God, this Blog is Five Years Old.

2009-08-31T08:30:00.006-05:00

Hello, blog readers...those of you that are left.

I have 3 weeks until the big day. I'll tell ya. I'm pretty excited. But, I'm also excited for my life to get back to normal...when I can focus on something without THE WEDDING looming in the background.

But I missed my blog's birthday. So, it's looking like it's about time to retire The Xanax Files. Five years is a loooooong time to keep a diary. And maybe I'm just running into a dry spell. Or, perhaps I'm just too happy these days to really get surly enough for these hallowed pages. Or, perhaps I'm moving into a new phase and I need to find a new skin to house it in.

Who knows.
I'll give it til the first of the year and see if we need to re-brand this bitch with a new name and new face in manner of so many make-over episodes of day-time talk shows.

Otherwise, if you really need to hear from me daily, I'm still full of vitriol over on the Facebook. So, if you haven't "omg friended" me already, it probably means I don't know you, and well, I'd rather you didn't stalk me.
So, for now, I'll say "stay tuned-ish" and I'll let you know what's up.

Hearts and shit.

HOW many days?????

2009-08-04T14:06:00.002-05:00

Jesus christ on a cracker!

I cannot believe how quickly 14 months has gone!

I will soon be a Mrs.

Holy God!

2009-06-15T21:53:00.002-05:00

Oh blog readers! I have forsaken you for the unholy glowing warmth of Facebook.

I have just about 90 days until the wedding.

OH MY GOD.

2009-04-30T12:33:00.001-05:00

It's the fucking FLU, PEOPLE!!!!

That's it.
The Flu.

Fucking Jesus Christ.

Billy Bob Thornton is an Asshole.

2009-04-16T10:42:00.003-05:00

http://tinyurl.com/c62upa

The link above features an interview conducted by a radio station...in Canada, I think.

Apparently, Slingblade has a band. But he doesn't want his acting to overshadow his bandmates.
However, rather than just SAY that, Captain Dickhead has to act like a fucking 2 year old, embarrassing himself, the DJ and the rest of his band.

I'll tell you. If I were those guys, I'd be like,
"Listen, Billy. As much as we'd like to tell ourselves that we're this awesome band getting radio play and interviews and blowjobs on our own merit, the reality is, you're like, one of the most famous actors ever. You've been inside Angelina Jolie. Before the babies. We understand that. And I, for one, am TOTALLY ok with riding on your weird coattails. So, stop acting like a fucking handjob and let's have some fucking fun with this. Also, here's some ice cream. Try smiling for a minute."

I mean, HONESTLY.

Pathos...

2009-04-15T13:35:00.002-05:00

Well, that's that.
My grandfather passed away. It's my first real big family death. And it blows.

There's a pretty groovy Obituary about him in the Sun Times:

http://www.suntimes.com/news/obituaries/1525294,CST-NWS-XBAIL14.article

and here's the link to his obit at the funeral home with his picture:
http://www.donnellanfuneral.com/

He was an amazing man. And I will miss him muchly.

Nothing Says Good Morning...

2009-04-08T09:21:00.001-05:00

...like 2 city blocks of photographic partial birth abortion horror at 8:30 AM.

Fuck you, Pro-Lifers.

Thoughts on All My Children

2009-04-07T13:59:00.002-05:00

...and soaps in general. And nothing helps avoid thinking about my dying grandfather more than...well, just about anything.

So, here goes.

So, I'm at the nail salon (and I use the word "salon" loosely) and they've got All My Children tuned in up there on the TV box.
And it gave me pause. For the following reasons.

-Um, why is it that trauma experienced by Soap Opera Women can only be solved by some kind of amateur hypnosis creepily administered by her husband/boyfriend/former lover?

-Do soap opera toddlers require years of therapy from all the abandonment they experience from plotline to plotline?

-To that end, ever notice how overcompensate-y soap parents get when talking to their toddler counterparts? As if to say "Look at me totally ACT LIKE THIS CHILD IS MINE!!!!!!"

-Also, what parent lets their kid DO soap opera work??

Director: "Okay Dylan, We're ready for you."
Kid: "My name's Mark."
Director: "Yeah ok, whatever. Ok, in this scene you're really scared because your daddy is leaving mommy and she's just got into a car accident when she got caught in a MegaTornado and no one can find her body>"
Mark: "What?????? I'm 3." (Sobs uncontrollably)
Director: And Action.

-Why is Tad Martin constantly hanging out in places where he needs to rescue/defend the honor of the women of Pine Valley ie at the Hospital/Police Station/Evacuation Center?

-How is Opal still on the show and why is SHE always in the hospital to administer quirky but motherly southern advice to men scared about the survival of their wives/estranged wives/children of their recently deceased wives?

-Do they really think this newfangled 35mm treatment on the tape actually lends legitimacy to the "drama" unfolding? If anything, the "realistic" filter magnifies the absolute ridiculosity of the tornado EVERYONE in town got hurt in.

-Does Susan Lucci even eat anymore?

-Does the chick playing Kendall?

-Oh, Angie and Jessie. You token black couple, you.

-Multiple Personality Disorder? One of the rarest and most difficult to diagnose disorders ever? Again?

Sigh.
It was so uncomfortable to watch. But more uncomfortable to realize that I ate this shit up, once upon a time.

And used to tape it.

Don't you judge me.

Really? Mr. President, REALLY?

2009-04-02T09:28:00.002-05:00

An ipod??

For HRM Queen Elizabeth II.

An IPOD??

To be fair, a rare autographed copy of the King and I song book (By Hammerstein himself) was also included in the gift....but really?? An IPOD??

And what's with the DVD gift set to the Prime Minister? That didn't work because the region codes are different here.
Now, granted, perhaps the Obamas aren't to blame as they have staffers to take care of the gift procuring.
Ok, fine.
But WHO DOESN'T KNOW THAT THE REGION CODES VARY?
What the fuck are they paying these people for???
If it were me, I'd be like,
"Thanks, Staff. I'll just go an do the thing that you were supposed to take off my fucking plate, my fucking self. You MORONS."

Maybe I'm spoiled. Maybe my love affair with the West Wing has me expecting our Presidents to present rare copies of poignant letters from Washington to his wife complimenting her embroidery and "unshakable intestinal fortitude" to our world's leaders.

Yet, everyday I see us moving closer to a world clad in logos and watered with gatorade.

Mumblings and Grumblings and Too Much Serious.

2009-03-24T21:24:00.002-05:00

It's been a rough couple of weeks, dear Blog Readers.

Between the move, my grandparents and my future in-laws, my brain and emotions have combined to form a sort of gruel...or a delicious delicious bowl of Cream of Wheat.

I have very little threshold for anything right now. I'm rendered so vulnerable that a helping of Chocolate Ice Cream rendered me 10 years old on a rainy day 2 hours past bed time when there's a babysitter.

That's what I have to report.

Persimmons.

I am Melodramatically Melancholic Today...

2009-03-10T10:34:00.002-05:00

I am not in the mood today

for what??

The world.

I'm feeling VERY dramatic today

Like, the kind of dramatic where saying I have ennui is totally acceptable.

and not at all pretentious.

I know. It's a little ridiculous.

Like I want to go sit in a window and sigh a lot.

like, I'm feeling very Jane Austin today.

I'm totally supposed to be writing headlines And I can't because all the sighing is in the way.

I HATE when I get like this. And i know it's funny. Which is even more distracting because I jsut want to make fun of myself. Instead of working.

also my skin is itchy

I can't even be bothered to blog. (so I've copied this entire entry from a chat with LK this morning).

where's a chaise lounge when I need it?

I have WORK to do! And I can't do it!

Goodbye City!

2009-03-06T10:38:00.002-06:00

That's right, dear Blog Readers, today is my last day/night in the big city.
Tomorrow the moving vans come to move my life back to Glenview.
Land of my childhood, and now land of my marriage.

I keep looking around this place thinking I'm going to miss certain things...and then I go, wait. I'm moving into a HOUSE.
With stairs.
And a fireplace.
And a YARD.

This is one of those "life changes" everyone talks about. Funny, that I'm simply returning to the scene of so many crimes.

Anyway, as with the last time...I'm sitting here procrastinating. If only there were some movie on that I could write about instead.

When next you read, this will truly be The Xanax files in manner of some frazzled housewife popping uppers and downers and running for the shelter...

But I will have a dishwasher. Finally after 14 long years without.

None of this makes any sense.

It's Another Ash Wednesday!

2009-02-25T09:31:00.003-06:00

Here we are...the home stretch into Spring.

Lots of things coming up the pike this Lenten Season...moving, working, saving...

Today though, I'd like to focus on a different Religious tradition. One that's pretty controversial. And one attached to my unhealthy obsession with the Mormons.

Baptizing Dead People.

Yep. You heard it right. Our Mormon friends are on a quest to Baptize all the dead people. Baptize 'em Mormon.

Now. Lest you, dear Blog Readers, think (with good reason) I'm immediately going to launch into some angry diatribe—I'm going to tell you: There's a part of me that thinks this is a wonderfully kind gesture.

You atheists just burst into fucking flames didn't you?

See...I believe that the desire to give a person a choice (if they are in fact given one once they reach the hereafter) about where they want to spend eternity is really kind of....nice. But aside from that, I have to say where it hit me the most was when I discovered that the Dead Baptisms were covering Holocaust victims. And that there was a huge movement to get these folks baptized right quick.

Some argue "How dare they. Those were JEWS (not all of them, some Catholics too). They're JEWISH. How DARE they convert them without permission." And that is a perfectly correct, and reasonable argument. One that I sort of agree with.

But here's the other side:

"Well, these people were tortured. And they were murdered. And buried in Mass Graves. WIth no family, no love, and no comfort to see them into whatever hereafter there might be. We simply want to offer some comfort. For them, for ourselves, for the world. Because, quite simply, we care. And it's the LEAST we can do when, for a long time, no one was doing ANYTHING to help those people."
I'm making that up, but if I were a Mormon, that's maybe a little of what I would say. Maybe not. Because I don't actually know what a Mormon would say about it because I've never asked. But, it's what I would say right this moment to justify it.
I just think it's a nice thing to do for someone.
And in this ever increasingly secular world where the expression of faith is becoming less and less accepted, well, I was really touched for a moment. By the selflessness of the sentiment.

Maybe I'm naive. Maybe it is some diabolical plot to turn us all into Mormons. I don't know. I don't care.
It's Lent baby. I'm feeling a little kinder today.

But not too kind.

Tocro: This one's for you. Happy Belated Birthday. Here's where it all goes down.

IT'S THE BATH OF THE DEAD!

Enough of the Myth that Liberal Democrats Are the Only Real Artists.

2009-02-24T11:48:00.003-06:00

I was just over at Post Secret today.

And here's what I found:

"I'm an art major and I'm a Republican. I feel like a fake."

A fake what? Republican? Artist?
Why??

I'll tell you why.

Because the prevailing notion is a liberally motivated stigma on Republicans that paints them intolerant, uncreative, boring, stupid, insensitive, unfeeling, overbearing, morally superior...etc. Which is soooooo ironic for soooooo many reasons.

And conversely, don't feel like a fake Republican because you think that they don't like art or artists. It's simply not true. There are PLENTY of Republican Artists. Myself included. We just don't go bleating about it like so many slaughtered lambs.

When the fuck did the Dems get the market cornered on art?

News Flash:
If most Democrats actually thought about it for a second...especially the Anti-War on Drugs folks, they'd find they have greater Republican leanings than they thought.

Also, to that Artist,
Just remember, Lincoln was a Republican. And he was kind of a big deal.

Yes, I Have My Period, But Hollywood Needs to Die in a Fucking Fire.

2009-02-18T10:47:00.002-06:00

I was just over at The Hater on the Av Club, and I read a nauseating report about the "swag bags" being handed out to the "celebrities" at the Oscars.

Here's my conclusion:

I truly believe that Hollywood "stars" are "stars" simply so that Americans have something to envy. Essentially, it's a vast commercial conspiracy designed to make people "aspire" to be something "greater than themselves." And by "aspire" I mean "covet" and by "greater" I mean "laden with useless garbage on which no one should be spending more than $50."

This kind of spending exhibitionism does nothing more than feed the "Great American Longing" which is rooted in The Great American Abandoned Child Syndrome brought about by Christianity.

Here's the equation:
Death of Savior (Parent) + Denial + Hope of Return=Self Sabotage in order to retain Familiar sense of Desperate and Oh so Romantic Longing.

Is your mind blown?
Yeah, it's Wednesday, bitches.

Award Shows Are Completely Unnecessary

2009-02-09T08:55:00.003-06:00

Why?
Because no one needs the assholes in Hollywood to tell us what's good and what's not. Especially when the assholes from Hollywood dole out awards according to the oh-so-obviously-overtired-flavor of the week method of voting.
That, and the fact that mainstream films and music are so limited in their scope, that really, there are few choices when choosing "what's the best". It's now pretty much the Best Animation Category across all media and genres. Everyone gets nominated because if they weren't there wouldn't be a choice.

For example. Last night's Grammys.

Jennifer Hudson walks with Best R&B because, really, who the fuck else is there? Also, points for murdered family members. Sigh. Altruism at its most annoyingly disingenuous.

And Robert Plant/Alison Krause get album of the year because, well, everyone else they're up against sucks. Ie. Fucking Coldplay.

There is no romance left in Hollywood. None.
It's so very sad.

I think I may bleed soon.

Paternity Tests Shouldn't Be So Difficult

2009-02-04T10:03:00.002-06:00

There's a moment in the morning when I explode in an absolute panic.
The moment I hear:
"BEEEP.... you're NOT the father."
...and it's a mad fucking scramble to change the channel.

Goddamned Maury Fucking Pauvich.

Apparently, there are women who have had upwards of 13 paternity tests in an effort to discover the identity of the man who "IS THE FATHER."

Ok, um, last I checked, doctors are pretty good at determining when conception PROBABLY happened. It's usually a 3-4 day window if I'm not mistaken. So, one can, with good authority, determine the day when the seed was planted.
Therefore, THIRTEEN paternity test begs the question:

How many men are these women having sex with in one day?
I mean, has there just been a rush on gang-bangs of late?

These are the mysteries of my universe.

Well, the Good News Is...

2009-02-02T08:33:00.003-06:00

I Survived the Superbowl. I managed to escape unscathed as my fiance's intent Superbowl watching face was trained on the television and I remained quiet and unassuming in order that my loud Lady-noises wouldn't interfere with all the bets he needed to place during the game. I also brought him food. I was vindicated when I received this praise/advice from Ms. Tocro:

"Good girl. You will successfully snare him with your submission. He is now trapped by his desire to control you. Be quiet and have his angry babies."

In other news, apparently the Superbowl is now won through cheap shots and all out beatings as evidenced by the late in the game personal foul involving Harrison who took it 'pon himself to punch, HOLD DOWN and then push down to the ground one of the Cardinals during an offensive play. Oh, and then there was the blatant holding in the end-zone resulting in a Safety (2 points for the Cardinals, ladies). Although, it could be argued that 90+ yards in penalties the Cards lost in the first half may have been a contributing factor to the tone of play.

But you didn't hear me say any of that.
At all.
As I sat quietly and demurely next to my ever-lovin', gamblin' man.

Damn You, Celebrity Sober House!

2009-01-30T08:45:00.003-06:00

There are very few instances of reality television viewing in our house. A Supernanny here, a Wifeswap there...and I have a weakness for the fall down drunks on Intervention... so, I suppose it's only a matter of logic that I would get addicted to Celebrity Rehab and its offshoot Sober House. (See what I did there? Addiction? Rehab? Sober? Awesome.)

Anyhoo...yes. I admit I am an avid viewer of the Dr. Drew Franchise. And it's what I'm writing about today.

The season opened with Steven Adler showing up fucking nodded out on Heroin. Awesome. The tiresome constantly emoting about how hard her job is house mom rightfully wants him kicked out.
Dr. Drew says, no....let's get him detoxed again and then we'll see where he is. Apparently "see where he is" translates to "not searching the rest of his belongings/person for more fucking drugs", because the dude comes back to the house, higher than before and basically on a bender. IN the house. So, we spend an episode watching an ex-drummer stroke victim bump around the house, change his pants seven times, and nod out in various dark corners.
Then House Mom calls the cops.
Good for her.
He never should have been allowed back in the first place.
So, what happens? Do the residents get angry that they've been convinced—well paid—but still convinced (watch the last episode of Rehab for the high pressure "ARE YOU GOING TO SOBER LIVING" nonsense everyone had to endure) to leave their lives, and in some cases, children, to live in a "sober" environment for the enter-cation of the teeming masses, only to discover that there's an active drug addict running around the house with his lips firmly wrapped around a pipe and needles in any vein that's not collapsed. Do they get indignant about the fact that Dr. Drew LET THIS GUY BACK IN after knowing that he had drugs on him the minute he stepped in the door? Does the House Mom get to tell Dr. Drew "She told him so"?
No.
No.
THe residents get pissed alright, pissed that someone called the cops.
What?
Really?
Yes. They're pissed because they feel like the house mom betrayed them. By keeping them safe.
Ok fine. I hope they all fucking fail. If that's what they're mad about...that if they relapse someone's gonna call the cops on them and they feel afraid...of GETTING IN TROUBLE..then fine. I hope they fail. If you can't recognize the ways in which your sobriety is threatened and get angry when the people who aren't supposed to let that happen, do? I'm done with you.
Except for Rodney. I heart him. He's the only one who isn't behaving like a 9 year old.

And fuck you too, Dr. Drew for putting those people in that position. Twice. And now, it's looking like a 3rd time as I saw some previews of the administrators actually discussing whether Steven should be let back in.
And goddamn me for letting myself get sucked in to this nonsense.

That's it. My Head Just Fucking Exploded.

2009-01-26T07:56:00.002-06:00

Oh. My. God.

I...
Ok.

From the "OMG, fixing toilets is for dads and boyfriends" file:
Whitney Casey.
There are few things in this world that can send me into a firey cataclysmic rage faster than than being late and being lost. However, this morning, in the safety of my apartment where I was neither late, nor lost, I nearly willed old people into my living room so that I could strangle, then drown them.

This rage was caused by one woman.
Whitney Casey.

Author of another in a long line of godawful book written for desperate women seeking to land/keep a man. These books generally advise women in a clever, cheeky way that "It's ok to be a woman. The 1950's were awesome!" Look, I love chivalry as much as the next woman and have marked its absence in many a dating situation. However, I'm not ready to give up my brain and my integrity simply to snag a guy who has no clue how to be chivalrous anyway. It's a waste of time.
This morning Ms. Casey thought to impart some of her "wisdom" by teaching women "How to Survive the Superbowl."
Alright. Let me preface all of the following with this:

It is 2009. If you don't have at least a passing knowledge of sports, or an ability to entertain yourself while they are happening, I cannot help you. Seriously. I can't. There is a rite of passage every girl goes through as a child. And that's the day her dad tells her to "Go play in the other room, the game is on." Now, any dad worth his salt these days, helps his little girl appreciate the awesome that is a football game or a hockey game, but it doesn't always happen. So, a girl has a choice: suck it up and watch the game and learn how to appreciate it, or go in the other fucking room, play Barbies and learn how to live without her dad/man for a few hours.

Whatever. Anyway, Ms. Casey, fucking idiot that she is, had some of the following to say about how a woman should behave during sporting events, specifically, the Superbowl:

-Keep your mouth shut. No matter how much you think you know about the game of football, the teams playing, or next season's draft picks, your man has no interest in what you have to say. Ever.
-Don't think that half-time is your time. Because Bruce Springsteen is playing and all men love Bruce Springsteen. And unless you want a backhand to the face, you'll keep your mouth shut. Also, he may use this time to place another bet.
-Watch yourself during commercial breaks. Commercials are hilarious during the Superbowl. Also, he may be trying to place another bet. (seriously.)
-Don't joke about cheering for the opposite team he is. He could have a lot of money riding on the game! Also, find out what the point spread is. Sometimes, women get confused (exact wording) when it comes to the point spread. You'll need to understand why he's suddenly changed the team he's rooting for.
-Bring him food.

I wish I was goddamned kidding.
Apparently, according to this woman, all men are pigs when it comes to sports. Also, they have raging gambling habits we're supposed to condone and bear quietly.
Here's my reality. If I behaved this way during a game, my fiance would leave me.

Here's the real reality.
First of all, this is Chicago. I don't know many men who give a shit about this years Steelers/Cardinals (that's Pittsburg/Arizona for those playing along at home) match up. If they do, it's only because of Fantasy Leagues. And I'm not even sure that Fantasy Football carries into the Superbowl.

Second: Her alarming acceptance of rampant gambling has me concerned. Her attitude suggests that he's going to gamble and if you don't like it, that's just tough. Maybe it's just me, but if someone's gambling is at the point where he's got "a lot of money riding on a game", and your involvement in the game "interferes with his gambling" and he's "placing more bets during half time", perhaps a conversation needs to happen. About his addiction. To fucking gambling.

Third: If you really aren't interested in the game, that's ok. Seriously. It's fine. He's not interested (probably) in manicures and knitting. But you don't see him reading books on how to cope with all the manicures and knitting in your life. (I use these examples because I am avidly interested in these two activities, ladies, not because ALL women are. ) The point is, don't fucking pout about having to put up with sports in your man's life. And if you need a goddamned book to teach you how to get along with Sports enthusiasts, you probably have a bigger problem.

If you can't beat them, join them, and if you can't join them, go get a fucking manicure. Easy.

To the Jeffries Tubes!

2009-01-22T13:22:00.002-06:00

As I sit here watching the saucer section of the USS Enterprise crash land into a planet...and watch as people are thrown around the bridge in that oh-so-S tar Treky-way, I'm moved to ask myself:
"Why aren't there any goddamned seatbelts on that ship?"
I mean, at the VERY least, let the SEATED helmsmen, who are responsible for safe landing keep their seats. And Riker. Who is acting captain. And SITTING IN THE CAPTAIN'S CHAIR gets tossed about like a ragdoll. Starfleet couldn't install proper safety restraints? Really?
Seriously.

Buckle the fuck up, Enterprise!

In other news, I slipped on the ice taking my laundry down. Awesome.

Fuck you, Fallout Boy.

2009-01-22T09:39:00.000-06:00

That is all.

The Post Jason is Referring To

2009-01-20T17:42:00.002-06:00

Yeah. Earlier this morning I wrote a rather scathing post dedicated to those expecting Obama to "walk on water, cure cancer with the laying on of his divine black hands, and start a goddamned cascade of manna from heaven."

After John William's arrangement of "Air and Simple Gifts", I was moved to a reminder that the guy is the President of the United States, and perhaps I should go ahead and acknowledge that before I get all kinds of assy.

So, I did.

And now, I can say without hesitation:

WAKE THE FUCK UP EVERYONE!
The man is not Jesus. He cannot make the blind see, the cripple walk, nor the leper cease to ooze. He cannot fly and he can not fell a yak from 200 feet with Mind Bullets.
But he does indeed, have the power...to move you. (Acoustic fill here please....)

WONDER BOY!

Anyhoo. Let's just all settle down, let's see what the market does, and let's say some prayers that we all get our jobs back.

And Even the Biggest Cynics Can Be Brought To Tears.

2009-01-20T11:07:00.002-06:00

And that would be me.

Go Obama Go.

HOCKEY!

2009-01-15T11:01:00.002-06:00

So, I went to a Blackhawks game last night.

I came to the following conclusions:

-The nosebleed seats are called such for a reason. I thought I was going to pass out.

-I turn right back into a girl during hockey games. This is owing to the fact that I can't get Icing or Off-Sides straight in my head.

-The Penalty Box: Let's dial up the "you...you feel shame". I believe that the "Box Judge" should not only be in charge of opening and closing the door, he should take his seat next to the offending player and "JUDGE" him. Complete with a lot of sighing, sidelong glances, and disappointed head-shaking. Optional EXTREME PENALTY BOX VISITS include a small child in hockey jersey much too big for him. His innocent, confused gaze fixed at the offending player while asking questions like: "Why are you in here?" "Why did you hit that man with your stick?" "Did you mean to trip him?"

-Also that I am very lucky to be marrying an ex-hockey player. Cuz he can teach me how to skate in hockey skates.

Then truly, my bad-assery will be complete.

So far in 2009...

2009-01-08T14:31:00.003-06:00

Oh blog readers, all 2 of you, how I have ignored you.

Let's see...

I have
taken care of the elderly.

Drank way too much seasonal beer.

Mulled a lot of wine.

Finished a fucking TERRIBLE book which was such a betrayal because it was the fourth book in a series of which the first 2 are some of my favoring literature ever. Even though it's sci-fi/fantasy.

Adopted a spray bottle policy on my cat who at his leisure decides that my hands and face are attacking him and he must kill.
cooked my first pork tenderloin. It was delicious.

Contacted a few photographers after gentle "prodding" by my wedding planning website. By "prodding" I mean the delivery of no less than 426 emails reminding me to do so.

Came into possession of my great-grandmother's wedding veil. It's very yellow. The jury is still out on that one.

Attended my good friend's baby shower...the sandwiches were delicious. The diaper game...was not. Now we're on BABY WATCH!

Realized that come 2 weeks it will be exactly nine months until my wedding.

Had one freelance job.

And have been in a constant state of anxiety since just before Christmas.

Merry New Year!

8 Days Til Christmas

2008-12-17T09:09:00.002-06:00

Tom Cruise is on Regis and Kelly this morning.
This is what my life is reduced to while unemployed in the Winter. Morning television, fighting with my cat, and dreading the trip to the grocery store. Also, wondering if Regis and Kelly are in a fight this morning as I watch Regis bat away any attempt Kelly makes at humor...

And now I can direct my rage toward my nemesis. Tom "Soul Full of Assholes" Cruise.
Let's start with his new movie. Valkyrie. Where he plays an Eye-patched Nazi (presumably the BEST Nazi, thus rounding out his "Top" franchise.) Only, he doesn't even attempt to authenticate the role with any kind of acting whatsoever...most obviously by cleverly omitting an accent of any kind.

OK, he's on.
I think he's been heavily medicated.
He also looks like he's lost about 20 lbs.
That's about all I can report as it was the most uninteresting interview ever.
But I did learn that Valkyrie is rated PG. Awesome. It's going to be the Pearl Harbor of Nazi Films. I really hope there's a cute dog someplace that I can root for.

NEWSFLASH:
I was watching A Charlie Brown Christmas last night, and in the 2nd half hour they played an updated special. Most notable was the absence of Linus's blanket. Well, according to Wikipedia, in 1989, Schulz decided that Linus had outgrown his blanket.

I don't know how to about that. I've always considered Linus to be an iconic champion for security blanket owners everywhere. I guess Schulz decided to let the icon grow up. I dunno.
But anyone else out there think this is like Milne giving Pooh a PhD?

Oh Alanis. I'm laughing at you.

2008-12-11T09:29:00.002-06:00

Right. So I just saw Alanis's latest video for "not as we" and oh my wow.
Here is yet another song about breaking up with somebody and having to "start all over again". But what struck me was that she really punches up the spinster in this one . Rather than show up drunk at the dude's house during a dinner party, slashing his tires, and cutting herself, we see her pensively drinking a sensible cup of herbal tea, walking a beach on a cloudy day, and talking to a kindly therpist. Throw in a bath and a visit to a spiritual healer and we have a nice cross between an Lifetime Original Movie and a douche commercial.

LOL Alanis Morissette. LOL, indeed.

Thoughts on He of the Substantial Hair...

2008-12-09T22:22:00.002-06:00

Well, I'll tell ya. There is no question in my mind that this asshole belongs in jail. However. I definitely question the timing. I feel like this stinks of underhanded shots at Obama's impending inauguration. I'm wondering if someone in the GOP approached him with an offer the greedy bastard couldn't refuse to fall on his sword for an ungodly amount of money.
Sigh.

GodDAMNit, Daley.

2008-12-05T08:34:00.002-06:00

So, the city has passed Mayor Daley's cost-of-meter-parking plan that, in some cases, will quadruple meter costs. Oh, and, free meter parking over night will also go away. So, I hope you're ready to get up every two fucking hours to feed the meter.

Awesome. All in the name of paying down the phantom "Budget Deficit" he hauls out every fucking time he wants more fucking money from us. The city stands to make upwards of around a Billion Dollars on this deal. Where do you think that's going to go?

This is lousy with Olympics.

So, now we'll see. We'll see how the percentage of car owners in the city stands up in the wake of this. Cuz in this economy, he is on fucking crack. If I had a car, I'd sell it tomorrow.

If this is really happening, then they better get some new meter technology. Swipe-cards, meters that take dollars, meters that take anything other than quarters. No one is going to want to fucking carry around a roll of goddamned quarters every time they get into the goddamned car.

I never thought I'd say this:

I am so very happy to be moving back to the suburbs next year.

Who's Afraid of Virginia...Juno?

2008-12-03T16:01:00.007-06:00

I have found an homage to "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf" through parallels between Jennifer Garner and Jason Bateman's characters in Juno and Martha and George in the aforementioned play.

What could those parallels be, you ask, dear Blog Readers?

Check it.

Why is Garner so surprised when she finds out that the ad placed looking for a baby was in the penny saver in the first place?
Oh, I suppose an argument could be made for Bateman having the responsibility of placing the ad, only to put it in the penny-saver with the assumption that no one would see it and therefor would be spared the unwanted role as "father".

And what of the revelation that the couple had another baby situation that didn't pan out because of what Bateman describes as "cold feet"? Sure, that could mean that the mother backed out...or he did...or more interestingly, Garner did. Sure.

And even further...what of Bateman's advances on Juno? A Sixteen-year-old pregnant girl? Indeed, it can be viewed as a desperate yet well intentioned seeking of his lost youth in this precocious, unique and multi-faceted girlwoman.

But I say that's all just fucking boring.

Wrap your brains around this one:

How about...Bateman and Garner are an extremely unhappily married couple who survive only through the sadistic manipulation of the other. She through her stranglehold on his masculinity, and he through her inability, yet burning need to have a child. Oh, and they dig on fucking with people on the outside as well.

Bateman, vengeful over his wife's totalitarian stronghold on his career and role as husband decides to advertise as adoptive parents in the local penny-saver. Juno innocently answers the ad. Through her bizarro-pixie-like involvement in her lives, she inadvertently foils Bateman's game by refusing his sexual advances and promising the baby to Garner even though their marriage is doomed. Garner chooses freedom by taking the baby and Bateman leaves to relive his glory days as a musician.

This all parallels the "Bringing Up Baby" game in "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf". In the play, George and Martha tell their guests, Nick and Honey that they once had a child but that it died.
Martha wails "you can't DO that" to George when he reveals that their son is dead.
They never had a son.
George "kills" him because Martha broke the rules by "talking about him".
George and Martha play weird sick games with each other to mask the dying inside each is experiencing with every passing moment in the other's company.

So, what I think is, Garner and Bateman are loose representations of George and Martha but escape their fate through the intercession of Juno. To say nothing of the whole "who's afraid to live their lives free of illusion" theme that is present in both couples' relationships.

Oh my god I need a job.

Note to Text/Email Slang Users

2008-11-17T08:31:00.002-06:00

It is spelled
H8ers.

Not H8ters.

You see, the 8 actually REPLACES the a and the t as saying the word, "8", actually expresses the a and the t. Putting a t back in is redundant.

So, knock it off.

Or just spell out the fucking word.

Why Won't She Just GO AWAY???

2008-11-17T08:10:00.003-06:00

Goddamnit. And admittedly, it could be a personal thing. But hearing that Hillary Clinton is being vetted for Secretary of State makes me regret my vote for Obama. And that top Republicans are on board with this is even more vexing.
I'm sorry. I just can't stand her.

I can't.

Alright, Everyone Needs To COOL OUT.

2008-11-07T09:28:00.002-06:00

Dear Republicans, and anyone else who doesn't respect someone's choice in political ideology,

This year's election was an emotionally charged, nearly religious experience for many, many people. Except my mother, who was in bed by 9:30. But I digress.... I'm hearing many stories of people being accosted on the street for showing support for a specific candidate, and I'm hearing more that a few accounts of my Republican Brethern vomiting sour grapes all over everyone.

I want you to go back in the way-back machine to 4 years ago. I want you to picture the morning after Bush was elected for a second term. And I want you to remember the angry, borderline-lynch mob Democrats you were greeted with as you walked in the office. Remember how that felt? Remember maybe feeling like you had to hide who you voted for because you thought perhaps your friends would think less of you? I do. I remember that. I remember keeping my head down while my co-workers were practically rabid with anger that anyone in our country could be that STUPID. That IGNORANT. That RACIST, CLASSIST, MISOGYNIST, CREED-IST...insert any other terrible IST here. I remember feeling like a Christian in Rome. Remember how that felt? Maybe not. But I do.

I remember feeling discriminated against. Because I voted with my gut. I voted for whom I believed was the better candidate. And that's not saying much. I did my homework. And still I was judged. I was maligned and I was sneered at. And it felt like shit.

So, this year, I decided to go with my gut again, and my gut, my Republican gut, told me to vote for Obama. So I did.

Republicans, and specifically those who want to go around blaming the Democrats for making a choice you don't agree with, I want you to realize, that it's not the voters' fault. It's our party. The Republican Party has absolutely abandoned anything remotely resembling the ideology of our past-leaders. The RNC might as well have dug up Lincoln and raped him with something hard and sandpapery. So, you want someone to blame? Blame them. But don't blame good, intelligent people who just want to be able to shed some of the shame America's been lugging around for the last 8 years. Who want to travel without being told "Don't let them know you're American. Put a Canadian flag on your backpack." Who want to know that for the first time in this nation's history, we don't have an old, white asshole running things.

And I'm here to tell you right now. If one Republican gives me shit for it, sinks to the level of the Democrats of 4 years ago, (and you know who you are Democrats), and tells me I voted for a terrorist, and doesn't respect me for the intelligent, well-read, reasonable person that I am? I am going to tell that person to go fuck himself.

Unless it's my grandmother. Then we'll just agree to disagree.

Wow.

2008-11-05T10:30:00.002-06:00

Suffice it to say that I am blown away by the history that was made last night.

Go Obama Go.

Ok, I've Found It. The Worst Casting Ever.

2008-11-03T10:18:00.002-06:00

Seriously. During the casting of the almost Unwatchable "Poison Ivy", at one point did someone actually say:
"Guys, Tom Skerrit and Drew Barrymore. Making out—in the rain. FUCK YEAH!"
More importantly, what kind of twisted person thinks "Tom Fucking Skerrit" when casting a make-out scene in the first goddamned place—least of all one involving the creepy December-May adultery/best friend betrayal nonsense this movie asks us to swallow?
Tom Skerrit? REALLY?
Oh yeah.
He of the scraggly mustache and bad underbite with unspeakable teeth.
Sign me up.
Immediately.

Oh god.

2008-10-29T07:54:00.003-05:00

That's it.

I need to chuck myself off a cliff.

They've just announced that they're remaking Melrose Place.

Also, do black celebrities get offended when interviewers ask them about how they feel about Barrack Obama? I don't know. Somewhere in my head I find it a bit condescending.
Kind of like "you're black, do you know Leroy from Detroit?"
Is it unfair to assume that just because a person is Black that they have a feeling one way or another about a black politician?
Although, perhaps this would apply more if someone said something like
"How do you feel about Jesse Jackson?"

Also, Donnie and Marie have totally done it.

Oh My GOD ENOUGH!!!!

2008-10-22T09:35:00.002-05:00

WHEN WILL HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL GO AWAY???
This is something like the 3rd Goddamned time I'm seeing some cast member of this fucking film on some talk show. And if I have to hear one more pop-n'sync-sounding-piece-of-shit-posing-as-a-stage-song, I'm going to drown something.

There is a small kitten here.

Won't you help save a life?

Make High School Musical stop.

For the love of God.

Also, I reaaaaaally need a job.

From the Junk Drawer

2008-10-16T08:22:00.002-05:00

Well, first, Obama kicked McCain's ass seven ways to last thursday last night.

Two highlights:

McCain's insistence that Sarah Palin knows more than most about Autism. Um? Really? Her child has Down's. He's not autistic.

McCain's baffling and demeaning remarks about his running mate: "I'm real proud of her...and by the way, she's got a real tough husband." What? Are...you... ok, as much as I can't STAND that woman, how DARE he? How DARE he condescend to her and then somehow think to validate her by telling us how "tough" her fucking husband is???

In other news,
Nothing says "Good Goddamned Morning" like a jackhammer at 7:15. Called the cops, it stopped for about 10 minutes as it took them forever to get there and legally construction can start at 8. Sometimes I really can't stand this city.

My kitten is the cutest thing in the land.

I am drinking very delicious coffee.

I still have no job.

Are you KIDDING?

2008-10-13T15:11:00.003-05:00

This is my new little guy.

Bow beneath the weight of his cuteness. KNEEL BEFORE HIM!! LOVE HIM!

From the "Apparently I Need MORE Handholding" File

2008-10-07T08:56:00.002-05:00

Goddamnit.

Ford is equipping some of its models with "smart functions". What are these functions, gentle Blog Readers?
They are settings that can limit the car's top speed to 80 mph and set the stereo to go only "so loud."
Why? Because apparently, people are retarded and can't just teach their kids about safe driving.

Thanks, Ford, for automating yet, another basic skill.

Where's I leave that paste? It was yummy.

I'm NOT Waiting Til Next Year.

2008-10-05T10:25:00.002-05:00

I'm starting a rumor:

Daley forced the Cub's Organization to throw the post-season so that nothing "untoward" would happen in the streets of Chicago to mar or damage Chicago's Olympic Bid.

There. I said it.

Because there is NOT ONE FUCKING GOOD REASON for a 96 game win Regular Season, only to go out with 12 runs total in the post-season.

Not ONE.
Except the above.

I blame Daley.

Oh, Palin, You're CRAFTY!

2008-10-03T08:24:00.003-05:00

At the opening of last night's debate, Sarah "insert some folksy cliche here " Palin shook Biden's hand and benignly asked "Hey, can I call you Joe?"
Polite ice-breaker?
NAY! A calculated effort to make sure that one of her "zingers" would fly true.

For not too long after, she was actually able to say with her characteristic "I totally didn't write this down earlier, I totally thought of this off the cuff just now, Real American People" panache:
"Say it ain't so, Joe!" and then in the same sentence said "Doggoneit". I don't even know how to spell that because I don't talk like a goddamned home-schooled spelling bee champ.

I'm about halfway through the transcript. I couldn't watch last night because I had a show, and, truthfully, I CANNOT listen to that woman speak. Her accent is like biting down on tinfoil.
But, here are some observations so far:

I've got 2 instances of "Darn right", 1 "Heck", 3 Americana-y phrases ie and I shit you not: "Bless their hearts", and oh my god ANOTHER zinger "Joe Six Pack".

My BODY hurts.

Hey, You Want to Go Out for A Beer?

2008-10-01T18:31:00.000-05:00

Sigh

Awesome

2008-09-30T09:03:00.002-05:00

So, I've been out of work since right after Labor Day. I was working at a pretty well-known marketing agency that decided (correctly) that rather than lay off their actual employees, they would release all of their freelance workers. ALL of them. That's a lot of workers looking for...work.

Anyhoo, now the economy is going super-nova.
And Washington chooses NOW to listen to the idiots in their districts who are bitching about "having to bail out" the assholes that got us into this.
Look, like it or not, this is the reality. Without this bailout, the economy will come grinding to a halt. We're looking at Depression. Dust Bowl. Turtles up-ended on highways while a loner hitches a ride on a running board.
So, yeah, it's unfair. But personally, I'd rather not live in a box car while waiting for work at an orchard.

Call my inegrity compromised, but we're not gonna solve this problem with hopes and dreams.

I Don't Give a Shit if Short Hair is IN this Season.

2008-09-24T08:49:00.002-05:00

Goddamnit. I hate hate HATE it when stylists start spouting off about short hair trends without talking about face shape and its direct proportion to how much shit you will look like if it's not the RIGHT shape.

NEWSFLASH: Short hair doesn't look good on everyone. It just doesn't. I don't give a flying fuck if Katie "Invasion of the Bodysnatchers" Holmes has a playful new bob this year. If you don't have the right face for it, you're going to look like an asshole.

That is all.

When I'm Drunk, I'm Brilliant

2008-09-22T09:35:00.002-05:00

Check it.

I figured it out. After about a case of Miller Lite and a heated debate with my future Italian In-Laws, I had a brainwave. An epiphany. And then I burped. But what came out with that belch was nothing short of absolutely the smartest thing EVER.

I figured out why there will never be an end to racism, a resolution to the abortion issue, or closure on Gay marriage.

People, Americans especially, are Guilt Fetishists.

That's right.

Americans get off on feeling guilty about something. They love anything verboten, because once they give in to the temptation, they can sit in their little worlds and wring their hands, and tie themselves up in knots over how sinful they are. So as long as racism exists, abortion is considered "baby murder", and Gay people are still thought of as "Satan's Little Helpers", people can continue to mea culpa all over the place. And that's hot.

Activists aren't activists because they want injustices to end. They activate because they want to point out that there are still people who consider certain things "wrong" so there's somebody out there who disapproves and therefore, something to feel guilty about.

Get it?

Goddamnit, This sounded so much better when I was half in the bag.

My Cat- June 1995-September 12, 2008

2008-09-13T11:04:00.002-05:00

He was an amazing animal.
He will be missed.
I don't wish that decision on anyone.
It was fucking horrible.

Safe journey to Summerland, my little Bat-Bear.

My Jeans are Wet.

2008-09-04T10:10:00.003-05:00

I actually felt as though the sky was taunting me this morning as I walked hurriedly from the bus to the office. I was Umbrellicus Withoutus and the windbreaker I use as a substitute has a limited saturation threshold. When it was finally breached, it felt as though the drops of rain became heavier and more insistent, causing me to look up at the sky and say aloud,
"Really?"

On August 4th...

2008-08-27T10:14:00.002-05:00

This Blog had it's Golden Birthday.

And I missed it. Ah well.

I've been blogging for 4 years.
Maybe I should finally turn this sucker into a book.

Goddamnit, The Hills!

2008-08-26T14:24:00.001-05:00

Ok, so now TWO of my nicknames are being shat all over on The Hills.

LC was the first.

And now Lo.

Fuck you, MTV. Just, fuck you right in the ass without any help.

And Now For Something Completely Different...

2008-08-26T10:00:00.002-05:00

I saw the coolest thing this morning.
I saw 3 robins hanging out on a lawn. I thought, That's strange. You don't normally see robins that close to one another unless they're mates. Then I realized. It was a mother and her fledglings. They were out on a lesson. The kids were about ready to be on their own, but kids they were. Hanging out with their mom.
THAT is something with which to start the day.

Oh...Who Are the People in Your Neighborhood in Your Neighborhood, in Your Neighborhooooood?

2008-08-26T08:12:00.004-05:00

I don't know the name of the people who share a back porch with me. Even though we speak regularly and they have offered the use of their grill if the occasion arises. I feel badly about this sometimes. And then I'm reminded WHY I don't any of know my neighbors' names:

Last night, after exiting a cab and carrying an assload of groceries, I happened upon a "neighbor" lounging on a camping chair in our courtyard situation. By "courtyard", I mean a long stretch of road that is only accessible by foot and bicycle and police vehicle that stretches from my street all the way down to Broadway. Some call these roads "Malls". Anyhoo, while pretty, it is a recipe for the following.
So, I see this guy lounging, eating some crackers, drinking some soda. It was a lovely evening, and feeling uncharacteristically neighborly, I said. passing by, "You look very comfortable". How NICE! And then he answered.
"Yeah, well, I'm dead as of tonight, lady. (incoherent mumbling) For 200 bucks."
More mumbling made more incoherent by MY internal response as I quickened my pace "Whoops...Sorry, didn't realize you were one of the hundreds of fucking CRAZY people living on my street."

Thank you. For the Ugly.

2008-08-25T11:30:00.003-05:00

On my way to the vet this morning, I hit the sidewalk at the Loyola stop and noticed a construction site. And at this construction site was a very nice fence situation with a nice floral motif to cover up the constructionness of the construction site- to make it look less, well, ugly. Then I smelled paint thinner. I looked up ahead and saw one of the construction workers wiping at a piece of graffiti. And I thought to myself, "wow. Vandals can't leave anything nice, can they?" and it kind of made me a little mad.
Any attempt to make something look nice, and some gang or some shithead kid has to come along and write his goddamned name on it.
Like a dog pissing on a tree.

Later, when walking to the bus, I thought I'd go to the stop down the block because it had a bench and seeing as how it was such a lovely day, it might be nice to sit in the sun and read while waiting for the bus. Because MY stop doesn't have a bench anymore. Most likely due to some murder. So off I go. When I get there, there's a nice, big, chunky pile of junkie sick right in front of the fucking bench.

Thanks, neighbors. For the graffiti, and the throw up.

Put Your Makeup Back ON, Paul Stanley.

2008-08-22T08:00:00.005-05:00

ew Ew EEEW!!!
At least with the make-up, his oh-so-pursed-lips were contextual. Now, they're just sordid. And frightening.

OH MY GOD! He looks like MIchael Jackson! He looks like Michael Jackson saw him in a magazine and said,
"HIM! THAT GUY! THAT'S who I want to look like. So, start cuttin'!"

BEHOLD!

It's Been a Rough Morning.

2008-08-20T10:08:00.002-05:00

First, I find out that LeRoi Moore, sax player for the Dave Matthews Band died. He was fortyfuckingsix.
Then, I find out that PBS is dropping its syndication Mister Rogers' Neighborhood.
What? Apparently, they're only going to provide one episode a week via syndication to local PBS stations. Thereafter, it will be up to the local affiliates to make the show available to viewers. This arrangement, apparently makes this a big pain in the ass for the local stations. And we all know what that means. Anything that requires more than 10 minutes of effort in this country stops.

I've probably posted this before, but here's a link to Fred Rogers' appearance before the senate to ask for more funding for PBS back in the 60's.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXEuEUQIP3Q

And now they want to drop him. Way to suck PBS.

Is It Still a Robert DeNiro Movie...

2008-08-20T08:31:00.002-05:00

If Sympathy for the Devil ISN'T played somewhere in the film, near the film, or during the trailer??

Or is it just Scorcese?

Kind of like John Landis's "See You Next Wednesday", except without the decapitation by helicopter?

Ugh.

2008-08-13T10:37:00.001-05:00

WHY is Scarlett Johansson such a big fat fucking deal?
She's not a good.
At all.

She's pretty? Kind of? Is that it?
Really?

The Plague Continues

2008-08-13T07:42:00.002-05:00

Yeah, so, note to self:
When suddenly aware of how long it's been since you've been sick, quickly move away from that train of thought lest you suffer the fate of the Cubs every time one of the fucking announcers says something like "The Cubs haven't lost a game at home in...." or "Ryan Dempster is going for his blankth win at home today", and such and such.

Suck.

Seriously.

The good news, we've finally set a date. I can't tell you what it is, however, for fear that you might write that date down and then use the time to hatch a plan to lie in wait until all of my loved ones are at my wedding and descend onto their homes to rob them of their things.

Yes, that's right. This was what my mother warned me about when sending out a public wedding announcement.
She's such a "glass half full" type, you know?

In other news, I am now an iPhone user. (Note to selves, thieves.) I heart it more than a whole lot of things I've ever hearted before.
It's the closest thing we've got to a Tri-Corder in this day and age and puts a nice band-aid on the seeping wound in my soul that I'm not driving around in a flying car right now.

Hey, also.
Russia? I'm sorry. Isn't there some kind of law or something that there's no war allowed..or at the VERY least, no NEW war allowed during the Olympics? Way to suck, Russia. Honestly, I think we can all agree that once again, you manage to take the fun out of something awesome.

Russia, the world's own embarrassingly inappropriate dinner guest.

Thanks, Hobo!

2008-08-07T14:32:00.002-05:00

Hooray! I'm coming down with a cold!

I passed by a homeless person yesterday who, I think, blasted me with something toxic.
I was walking down State street towards Sears. I had decided it was high time for some new underpants. Sears has some very cute options. And I must have opened my mouth to take a breath because I was walking really fast and all of a sudden I get slapped in the face and mouth with the WORST HOBO STINK I HAVE EVER EXPERIENCED.
It was fucking epic.
So epic in fact , that I believe I cried out in revulsion. Or at the very least yelped out loud.
It was awful. And I barely saw the person. I wasn't paying attention because normally when I see those people I hold my breath until I'm well out of range. Which, I know, makes me a terrible person. But this one got me. Down wind. Right in my soul. A mouthful of Hobo.

It stuck with me all fucking day long. And then other people stunk too. I was literally sick to my stomach with the smell of humanity yesterday.

Urine and Sweat. Mixed with street mung.
All day.

What Dreams May Come

2008-07-28T15:40:00.002-05:00

Yay Sleep!
That's where I'm a viking!

And apparently very neurotic.
Since we last met, I have murdered, been murdered, (stabbing and shooting respectively) been persued by my ex while back together with another ex, crashed my fiance's toy-like homemade car, and of course, starred in a play where I've had no rehearsals and barely know the plot.

Hey, Here's Fun!

2008-07-08T15:05:00.001-05:00

The other night?

I dreamt I was fucking struck by lightening.

And then I waited until my heart started up again.

Awesome.

Hey, anyone else think I might be experiencing a little anxiety?

No Thank You, Vera Wang.

2008-07-01T09:51:00.005-05:00

Ok, so this morning I decide, "Hey, Internet, let's go look at some dresses!" and I find my way over to Vera Wang.
Vera Wang whom everybody throws up all over themselves over.
Vera Wang—featured in that Sex and the City movie that everyone keeps talking about.
Vera Wang... who apparently designs for unwilling child brides addicted to crystal meth:

Cast-offs from the Requiem for a Dream screen tests:

And the Amish:

And so it goes, so it goes, so it goes...

2008-06-30T15:12:00.003-05:00

What?

I'm getting married. To B. My cup runneth over.

Blog Readers, it's the end of an era. And yet, the beginning of one. You will be regaled with drama (I've already had one fight with my mother), dress disasters, and the rest of the 4th Ring of Hell, otherwise known as Planning a Wedding.

For now, my brain is a buzz, by heart is full, and my finger heavy with shiny things.

And Now...Depression Sets In.

2008-06-19T09:24:00.002-05:00

You guys, for serious. I am fucking bored.

I've taken my bike in twice for rear flat tires in as many days. What the fucking fuck? I GET that it's an old bike, but getting stranded all the way in Rogers Park kind of sucks my balls.

MIke Myers is on Regis and Kelly right now. Isn't he irrelevant yet?

I have just heaved an enormous sigh that says "I think my career as a writer for advertising and marketing might be over.

BUT GOOD NEWS!
My brother just called!
I'm going fishing!

What?

Goddamnit, Metallica.

2008-06-17T19:10:00.002-05:00

"DEATH MAGNETIC"? That's the name of your new undoubtedly terrible next album?
What does that even mean???

You are terrible writers.

I hate you.

I'm sorry...I'm laughing really hard right now....

2008-06-17T09:37:00.002-05:00

Oh Kelly Preston. You made my day this morning.

On her new film premiering on Lifetime, which by the way features not only a rape, but ALSO an affair happening while the rape was going on. Awesome:

"The director was great...he did it almost as if it was an independent film" (Whatever helps you sleep at night there, Kel)
"I am really impressed with what LIfetime is doing. I mean the subject matter is topical, it's timely...they're adapting books to film. I think they're really doing important work."

I can't... stop...laughing!

Oh wait, "Mother May I Sleep With Danger?" is on!

I Am Lazy

2008-06-10T10:18:00.002-05:00

Oh, dearest blog readers, I have been remiss in my blogging duties...what with the freelancing, tornadoes, and buckets of fucking rain, I just haven't found the wherewithal to keep up.

Some items of note:

-I should probably turn in my nerd-license as somehow, I have seen Sex and the City but NOT Indiana Jones.
-Seeing Sex and the City exposed me to so much estrogen that I'm surprised I didn't have my period right then and there. (Spontaneous lactation would also have been an acceptable response.)
-Apparently, I am still attractive to semi-hammered men at Pretty People Bars as evidenced by advances from a random semi-hammered man which involved him stumbling up to me and putting his arm around me while singing. And then drunkenly calling attention to my "hotness". My boyfriend agreed.
-Apparently, I am old as my response to the above was a horrified look, panic and a shocked "I don't know who you are!" Sigh.
-I have zero patience for mass email forwards from our older internet-user bretheren involving scams wherein "strangers" use "ether" disguised as "perfume" to render victims "unconscious". This is for "real."
-I have another tattoo. And it hurt like 8 bitches on a bitch boat!

That is all. It comes in short bursts these days, folks.

I've Made a Decision

2008-05-23T09:23:00.002-05:00

These are the things one does when one is unemployed and has all kinds of time to read and write...and watch Regis and Kelly every morning...today's guest, Alan Alda has aged into Grandpa Munster. Not even kidding.

This morning, 2 tickets and backstage VIP passes to the new HIT MUSICAL Legally Blonde were included in a trip to New York giveaway situation. Which logically led me to ponder:
"Um, has Broadway just run OUT of ideas? Or have writers just given up? That's it, isn't it? They've just given up."

I know that 96% of tv and films produced in the last decade has been remakes, recreations, and "based-ons" so, I say fuck it.

Authors? It's time for you to start remaking novels.

Stephen King. Jane Eyre is PERFECT for you. Rochester's wife could be actually CONTROLLING the people of Yorkshire with her mind and underneath her crazy crazy eyes are the DEADLIGHTS.

Still in My Pajamas

2008-05-14T09:41:00.002-05:00

Yup.
No job yet.
I've gotten some random freelance work, but that's about it.

I've read some books, taken some naps, planted some flowers, and seen some movies.

And I've watched far far far too much BBC America.

I should start selling shit on ebay. That's what Regis and Kelly just told me.

This is my life.

33 Today.

2008-05-06T08:57:00.003-05:00

BIRTHDAY!

Recruiters and Interview Clothes.

2008-04-30T07:52:00.002-05:00

Today I venture into the city to meet with a recruiter. I don't have a suit anymore, (I grew out of it)so, as soon as I get done there I have to go shopping for "interview clothes".
I apologize, blog readers for this oh so boring look into the bleak world of unemployment.

Excitement yesterday included:

Purchasing a coffee grinder.

The coffee is delicious.

The First Monday...

2008-04-28T09:08:00.003-05:00

Ok, so, remember that scene in Singles where Campbell Scott is staring at his fax machine going "50 Resumes. %0 Resumes. C'mon. Talk to me."?

That's me.

Only my fax machine is my goddamned gmail.

I don't think there are many things worse than trying to find a job. And here's my fear:
That I've only been doing my new awesome worthwhile glamourous kickass job for 2 years and that that means my fucking life is going right back to answering fucking phones.

In other news, I dreamt last night that I was king crab fishing with the guys from Deadliest Catch.

I sucked at it.

The Angry Hand Of Unemployments

2008-04-23T13:39:00.002-05:00

Well, after 4 years, that's the end of me here at my job at Undisclosed Location.
Budget cuts, reallocation of resources, etcetera, etcetera.

Never Fear, However!

I will be back up in no time.

Keep your fingers crossed, dear blog readers.

Sorry For Tee Lack Of Prolificicity

2008-04-22T10:16:00.004-05:00

I am uninspired of late.
Aside from the spring that is springing. Finally.
Politics are upsetting.
Ben Stein believes in Intelligent Design (why do I kind of too?).
And I draw closer to yet, another birthday and the changing of my age up there in the header.

33.

It was suggested, yesterday, that people take my opinion of movies with a grain of salt—simply because I am not easily won by lazy cinema.
I am a movie snob.

Deal with it.

I am reading an absolutely terrible book. But there are very few books I have started and not finished, so, I'm in this one for the long haul. A nearly 800 page long haul.
Sigh.

Today I am absolutely the most boring person in the universe.

Ever.

Also,

emo.

Update on the Cougar

2008-04-16T14:38:00.002-05:00

Ok, so apparently it's really difficult to tranquilize a cougar.

http://www.bostonherald.com/news/national/midwest/view.bg?&articleid=1087479&format=&page=1&listingType=natmw#articleFull

But here's what...
it would have been nice to have some animal experts to explain these things when it was happening. We have 2 fucking zoos in this city for Christ's sake.

COPS on Safari!

2008-04-15T09:31:00.003-05:00

So, there was a cougar running around the city yesterday until cops gunned it down in Roscoe Village.
No tranq darts, no nets.
Just fucking gunned it down.

There's some woman defending police saying they didn't have time to get the animal control equipment over to where they cornered it and that it lunged at some of the cops. (But, according to her they were in the noeghborhood all day...seems to me they could have put together some kind of humane alternative plan).

So, have it boys, put on your pith helmets and murder it to death.

Awesome.
What's funny is they keep talking about the children in the neighborhood, but from all accounts, this was the most disorganized effort ever with MULTIPLE sprays of gunfire.
The witness states:
"They were firing at it."
Gunfire is ok, but oh my god! The cougar could EAT people. Oh, I see. This is 1412 and Cougars are the new black wolves. Let's grab our torches and pitch forks.

And I was going to post the photo the news can't stop showing us. The photo of the dead cat, but I'm opting for good taste.

Is it me?

2008-04-11T14:00:00.001-05:00

Or is all this Maintenance being conducted by American Airlines and United a cover for something else going on?

To Beijing or Not to Beijing

2008-04-10T09:46:00.003-05:00

Well, the man and I were in the car this morning discussing recent events surrounding the Beijing Olympics and China's general assholery when it comes to Tibet. Well, as much as I want to be all "LET'S BOYCOTT", I can't. And here's why.

The Olympic games, fundamentally, have served as the "Great Whip 'Em Out On the Table" for millennia. By it's very nature, it is designed to be the place where nations metaphorically "settle their differences." It's where everyone "Takes it Outside."
In short, by Ancient Greek standards, it could be argued that to boycott the Games means you're too much of a pussy to settle it in the ring, so to speak.

So...while my heart says "What the fuck was the Olympic committee thinking allowing Beijing to host...AND turning a blind eye to what some are calling what happened on March 10 Genocide?"

I have to say, well:

"Take it outside, world, and take some comfort when China gets it's ass handed to it by everyone else. Except in Gymnastics. They always kick ass at gymnastics."

Hey! I LOVE Being Forced to Quit Smoking.

2008-04-08T09:24:00.002-05:00

I always said that I would quit smoking as soon as I got pregnant.

I wish I could say I was.

No. I have to quit because my apartment building is becoming like most everything else in this fucking city...smoke free.

Why? Because the insurance company says so.
Apparently, there are lots of fires being set by cigarette smokers.
In Canada alone nearly 70 people die every year!!!!!!!!!
Apparently it's more in the US, but try getting any real statistics on the fucking internet about it.
Anyway, they're using that new flame retardant paper which makes smoking suck even more now, so there should be a big reduction (early research in New York says it's something like 25-50%).

Here's the deal.
Yes. I need to quit smoking.
But I resent being forced to because of political agenda and pharmaceutical company profit.

And here's what sucks even fucking more. Until they make smoking outright illegal...which they will...even if I BUY a home it's going to have to be a detached house situation. Because you can bet you fucking ass the Condo Associations out there are going to make short work of banning smoking in condominiums as well.

It's not right. It's not just. I have always been a considerate smoker. Always.

July 1.

That's how much time I have.

I'm a Podcast!

2008-03-29T12:39:00.001-05:00

So, a friend of mine... FireVaney does these podcasts.
Here's the one he did of me.

Christ on a Cracker...

2008-03-28T09:49:00.002-05:00

Ok, I just saw a blurb about the new Simon Pegg, directed by David Schwimmer vehicle, "Run, Fatboy, Run" that said:
"It's Shaun of the Dead meets The Wedding Crashers".
Why?
Because it's got two of the leads from Shaun of the Dead and it's inspired by the current template of American films starring Owen Wilson...and Simon Pegg has Blonde hair?
Fuck you, movie critics.
And Fuck you too, David Schwimmer.

GODDAMNIT I hate Wicker Park. Also: Die, Red Eye.

2008-03-24T15:41:00.004-05:00

I figure it's been a while since I really shared with you, dear blog readers, how very much I fucking hate hate HATE WICKER FUCKING PARK.

First, it's a goddamned disaster area. Everything is condemned, crime is rampant because the police force doesn't care about the retarded spoiled hipsters who think living like fallout victims is "cool", and there are people creating crap made out of old floppy discs and mint tins that look like old 8 bit Nintendo Controllers.

What has triggered my ire?
The fucking Red Eye. Which by all accounts at this point should be picked up as a whole and dropped in a goddamned volcano. (please see entry on September 13, 2007).

They did an article today that just made me want to rip my eyeballs out.
It was all about "Geek Chic" and how girls are just "all about being into things that boys like". And they featured this one chic (see the crap she makes above) and where is she from? SURPRISE! Wicker Park.

And THEN to top it all off, in the same article, the Red Eye once again referenced how people who enjoy football are uninteresting and boring:
"There's so much to talk about, like, 'What would the world look like if there were three genders instead of two?' That's a much more interesting conversation than, 'Who won the Superbowl'".

Yes, you're right, random interviewed "chick-geek"! That would be a much more interesting conversation, because anyone who watches TV or breathes, knows that fucking New York won the fucking Superbowl. A more interesting yet related conversation might also be, "How did New York get there?" or "Wasn't this the second brother in the Manning family to Quarterback a Superbowl Team and win? The second year in a row? Wow, that's pretty fucking amazing!"

Well, look, that isn't exactly fair of me. My point is, Football Fandom and Geekdom are not mutually exclusive. I am tired of this city's 'hipster culture' determining for me what's awesome and really taking a big dump all over what's not.

Anyhoo, this was the letter I sent:

Your Geek Article had few saving graces... least of all doing a fantastic job of turning individuality into kudos for Ugly Betty, more acclaim for crappy, "It's cool to live in squalor" Wicker Park, and even more annoying: the closing quote regarding the Super Bowl.

I rarely read your paper, simply because I find it, for the most part, polarizing, dumb, and any other synonym for insulting.

Imagine my distress then, when I deign to pick it up again and I read yet ANOTHER slam on football in reference to what women (geeks) enjoy.

The last was some vapid piece about women complaining about all the football in their men's lives. Boo f-ing hoo. Try watching a game once in a while. Or don't, but don't keep insulting people who actually enjoy sports.
Because actually, some men would argue that girls who like football are "nerds" in their own right because women don't traditionally enjoy the sport.

Please, find something else to reference when looking for comparison to things uninteresting and interesting.

Thank you for your time.

Back to laundry.

Is it me?

2008-03-24T08:13:00.002-05:00

Or do the promotional ads for Gossip Girl suggest that every fucking episode has at least 1 character in a goddamned evening gown or tuxedo?

You Can Thank Rolling Rock

2008-03-21T09:03:00.002-05:00

Why, oh why is it snowing buckets the day after the Equinox??
Because the Moon is pissed.
Why?
Because Rolling Rock wants to use her as a fucking billboard.
The day after an Equinox.
On a Full Moon.
Now, we all know that the science behind actually projecting something on the moon is near about impossible, and that this is all a joke. Ahahhhahahahhahahaahhahaaaa!!!
But the intent is there.

And now it's snowing.
You do the maths.

You are TOTALLY OFF My Friends List!

2008-03-19T16:17:00.003-05:00

Ok, so, it seems that the adult world has literally plunged face-first into a magical fountain of youth that renders one a teen something retard and makes it ok to express one's discontent with another by removing that person from an elite list of 560 people on fucking myspace, facebook, or I have no life .com.
Make no mistake, I do, indeed, have a myspace page. And a Facebook page. (I have validation issues people. I write a BLOG for crying upstairs!).
But seriously.
If you are going to let someone know that you are mad at them, or no longer friends by demoting them from your top whatever number they let you have now or deleting them all together, without a follow-up message? You, my friend, have what people call "issues".

I mean, hell, I've removed people as a symbolic gesture AFTER having had a real life incident with them. It's akin to deleting someone's number from your cell phone.
But I never said
"This'll show 'em" and removed them without dealing with it on earth first.
You remember Earth right?
The place with real trees, art, sports and *GASP* people with VOICES?

You know who you are.

Tornadoes and a Moratorium on Fucking Harry Carray Impressions

2008-03-19T09:33:00.002-05:00

Ok, first, dreaming about your entire family getting carried away by a tornado is neither fun, nor restful.
I'm exhausted this morning.

Second? And I know it may seem that I am skating the thin line between pet peeve and obsession, but what the fuck do ya know, there's a commercial right now that features someone doing a goddamned Harry Carray impression! And not even a real one. He's really sort of doing Will Farrell doing Harry Carray (who by the way is really the only person I can tolerate doing a Harry Carray impression...barely.) I mean, for fuck's sake. We got it. He's got an iconic and recongnizable voice and oops! was drunk most of the time which, of course, is the main ingredient in the alchemic formula for THE COMEDY.

Snakes.

Impressionists Are Not Funny.

2008-03-14T09:46:00.004-05:00

I'm talking about those assholes whose whole schtick is standing there "rocking out characters" while onlookers fidget uncomfortably.

Case in point: the asshat on WGN this morning. I don't remember his name, all I know is that he opened with a (surprise) Johhny Fucking Carson impression, which was horrible by the way, followed by someone else no one cares about, and rounded it all off with a fucking Groucho Marks. Peppered in were George goddamned Burns, and Harry Carray.
I'm not kidding you when I say it made me so angry I didn't even know what to do with myself.

So, to recap:

Impressionists should be stuffed in bags filled with snakes and drowned.

It's Eggs...I Think

2008-03-12T13:42:00.001-05:00

Alls I know is that I have to get to a doctor. Because if I feel like I felt last night one more time, I may cut out my own stomach.

Laissez les Bons Temps Rouler!

2008-03-06T13:10:00.010-06:00

Ok, I'm back. Good God.
Here's an abridged version of the weekend.

ADVENTURES IN MAMMOGRAMS!!!!!!

2008-02-27T10:48:00.002-06:00

You must say the above as if you were saying:
"PIGS IN SPAAAAAAAAACE."

Go ahead, I'll wait.

...

Ok. So, yesterday, I finally went for my follow-up screening after the big scare of Aught Five. I'm fine. So fine, in fact that you get the bulletted version of the day.

-WHY in every hospital in EVERY section where one has to change clothes, do they have to label the bin for used gowns
"SOILED LAUNDRY".
Soiled is one of those words that just makes me vomit and then feel bad about myself later. Soiled says "Someone crapped somewhere in here." I understand in an emergency room where poop and other fluids are projected you definitely want a bin that says SOILED. But in the Breast Imaging center? Come on.

-First day of Period + Mammogram = excrutiating pain. For those not familiar with the procedure, they take your breast, lay it on a shelf, and then crush it with a vice. Until it's a flat piece of flesh about 2 inches thick. Think about the anatomy of a breast for a moment. There. see? Pain. Now add in the swollen-ness from the monthly miracle.
I almost passed out.

-when I was all finished, the nurse said "Ok, the radiologist is going to come in. It's nothing, so don't worry. I tell women this all the time and they STILL get scared. hahahahahhaa!"
ok.
So, then the doctor comes in.
"Hi, LC, I'm doctor so and so. I just wanted to come in and tell you.........................................................................................................................................................................You're fine. Your fibroid adeneoma hasn't gotten any larger in the two years since your last exam, so you don't have to worry about coming back here until you're 40."

Geee....thanks doctor. Thank you for the weird pause. You might want to look toward that in your efforts to solve the Mystery of The Terrified Patients.
Seriously.

Anyhoo... I'm great. I leave for New Orleans tomorrow. I look forward to hurricanes (the beverage) and lost time (the result of said beverage)!
Woo hoo!!!
See you all next week.

Live Blog: The Fucking Oscars

2008-02-24T19:32:00.003-06:00

Ok, so here we are. This is the first year in many that I am actually going to sit through the entire show from beginning to end. And I'm taking you all with me on my journey. This is not an original idea, as the AV Club over at the Onion does it every year. But, whatever. Who cares?

7:33 and I'm already bored. The opening credits sequence was a lack-luster, badly animated amalgam of Hollywood over the past 80 years, featuring the Terminator delivering the Oscar statues to the venue. It was something out of a Lowes Theaters "sit back and enjoy the show" nightmare.

7:37. Jon Stewart's awkward monologue opens with a predictable nod to the Writer's Pout.

7:44
Okay, first commercial break, and a Best Costume Design to Elizabeth: The Fashion Show Loosely Based on What Really Happened Back Then.
I saw this film this past week and without going into full detail, it wasn't good.
Anyway, after the shortest acceptance speech ever, we cut to Barbara Fucking Streisand at a flashback to when she won an Oscar sometime in the 60's. And her remembering when she won. Great, we get to watch stars masturbating with memories. Awesome.
B likes the set.

7:56
We've had a montage...which ALMOST made me cry. I admit it, I am a sucker for the montage. I'm sure I'll see at least 9 more.
Ratatouille takes Best Animated Feature. I realize I've seen way more of these movies this year.
HA! Two presenters wearing almost the EXACT same dress!
Also, I heart Steven Carrell.

8:03
Hollywood Power-Couple/Excercise in Creepiness Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones reminisce about their collective awesomeness, B aptly observes:
"Wow. They're still married." He is already showing signs of wanting out of this venture. I am committed to soldiering on.

8:07
The Rock's real name is Dwayne Johnson. Hm. Apparently The People's Actor is taking himself seriously now.

8:12
You know, I feel really bad for "team oscars." The first guy always get the most time and the second guy is totally fucked.

8:16
Best Supporting Actor...and we have Hal Holbrook as the "Obligatory Nomination for Being Old".
And the dude from No Country for Old Men takes it and accepts it in Spanish. This is one of the flicks I haven't seen. Mostly because I'm just not a big fan of Fargo.

Ok, we're at a commercial break.
45 minutes in and it occurs to me that this could get rather tedious. So, I'm just gonna do this about every 20 minutes because I'm not talking to my boyfriend and I have to keep him engaged or else he's changing the channel.

8:25
I'm bored again with the goddamned second performance of a nominated song. I'm watching a black gospel choir sing about not giving up, being yourself, and having the strength to get through it all. Ugh.
See you in 20.

8:44
And now I'm asking myself Why. Why did The Bee Movie get even a fucking nod?
Why is Jessica Alba still working?
Why is everyone stumbling over their lines?
Why is this show lacking in any kind of energy?
Oh yeah, the chick from Michael Clayton won for best supporting actress.
No Country for Old Men takes Best Adapted Screenplay.
Seriously. Were they passing out Quaaludes in the swag bags this year?? I have to think that this show's horribleness lends itself to the absence of writers until a week ago. They just should have cut their losses and cancelled the show this year. This show is absolutely embarrassing. And could very well finally put a nail in the coffin of award shows. No one really cares anymore, and if you can't produce a show that's remotely interesting to watch, well, there it is.
Aaaaaaaaand now we're getting a very boring lesson in how the Academy votes for the nominees.
Oh! I get it. Everyone is wearing red for the Little Red Dress project.

8:54
OH MY GOD THIS MUSIC IS AWFUL. I'm in hell.

8:57
LOL. The tagline for the Oscars this year is "the one. the only."

9:04
I've lost B. He's gone to do the dishes. I even tried plying him with thin mint girl scout cookies. Unsuccessful.
I'm slowly descending a Quaalude contact high.
Do the memory montages count as montages? Because I think we're officially up to 1200.

9:16
So, the French chick won Best Actress. Which, I think is cool. But, I really would have loved to see Laura Linney win. I love her work. She's just so damn good. Oh well.
I think we're about due for another goddamned song. Undoubtedly from goddamned Enchanted.
Are you as bored to tears as I?
I thought so.
And to really drive the point home, they're playing fucking Wii tennis.
Good God.
And I was right! A song.
But at least a good one. Finally.
Falling Slowly. This song is absolutely heartbreaking. And Glen Hansard is playing the Takamini with the hole in the body. Kick Ass.

9:23
Old Balls Jack Nicholson. Woo hoo.
MONTAGE! We're gonna need a montage!

9:32
Nicole Kidman is wearing a chandelier around her neck.

9:42
References to how long the show is: 142.

9:44
If it involves Nazis, it wins. Austria takes the Best Foreign Language film. B states: Mel Brookes could have made Hitler on Ice and it would have won.

9:45
Ok, here we have a THIRD fucking song from Fucking Enchanted. If Enchanted beats the song from Once I'm going on a killing spree of small woodland creatures. I'm not even fucking kidding. That's enough Disney. Seriously.

They keep announcing presenters with little epithets like this gem:
"And now, one of the stars of Enchanted, the handsome and versatile, Patrick Dempsey."
Versatile, huh? His hair hasn't changed in 20 years, and I see him do nothing except stand around and half-smile. I hate him.

9:49
Apparently John Travolta doesn't warrant a complimentary introduction.
Ok, here we go. Best Song.
FALLING SLOWLY!!!!!!!! I am vindicated!

9:52
Why does Jon Stewart feel like he needs to say things like:
"Wasn't that a great moment for them?"
Yes, Jon, it was. Winning an Oscar is a pretty kick ass moment. Thanks for clearing that up for us. In case we didn't GET that.

9:55
I just saw an ad for "A Raisin in the Sun" starring Puffy Combs or whatever the fuck he's calling himself these days. Did you hear that sound? That was the Seventh Seal cracking open.

9:57
The technical glitches on this show are ridiculous. Jon's body mic wasn't on when they came back from break.
The Stage Manager's head just exploded.
Aw...Jon just brought Glen Hansard's partner out to do her speech because she didn't get to talk when they won.

B: "Thanks, Cameron Diaz, for doing your hair this evening."

10:10
Atonement takes Best Score.
I'm getting so tired...so very tired.

10:24
Why does Harrison Ford always look like a man in the middle of an Alzheimer's Moment?
Ok, Best Screenplay...Diablo Cody for Juno.
And her dress is hideous and ill-fitting. It doesn't help she keeps trying to pull the hem down. The kick pleat is up to her crotch.

10:31
Ok here we go. Helen Mirren presenting Best Actor. She is beautiful.
Vigo Mortenson should win just for putting a cigarette out on his tongue.
Daniel Day Lewis takes it. I haven't really been behind him since Last of the Mohicans which I just remember being hard to hear.
Is it me or are there an inordinate number of non-Americans winning these awards? Is this a harbinger of American Achievement Apathy?

10:42
Best Director...
Wait for it...
Coen Brothers! Awesome. I wonder what Best Picture will be. The AVers seem to think that this might be a year when Director and Picture don't match...

10:47
No Country for Old Men. Best Picture. Now I gotta see the damn thing. And There Will be Blood so I can decide for myself. But, I gotta say. I saw Juno and Atonement and neither one of them deserved it.

10:48
That's it. There you go. Another Oscar night ended. Thank God.

Thank you, and Goodnight.

What's Up in the World Today?

2008-02-21T08:51:00.002-06:00

Aside from me being in the most raging bad morning mood ever?

Well, let's see.

Some dude from Wheaton killed his parents and siblings...but not before defrauding his parents out of $100,000+.

Some OTHER dude lit his kids on fire. (This is becoming a frightening trend).

A student at NIU went off his anti-depressants and killed 5 people and then himself.

Obama's wife is being called un-patriotic because she "Wasn't proud of America before".

And it was snowing this morning.