If I'm not busy my mind wanders like a video game character searching for the next level.
Seriously, in the course of today - I've thought (and actually believed) the following:
1. I love my striped black and orange Halloween underwear. Why did my mom never buy me those underwear with the names of the week on them? Maybe it's a good thing she didn't, otherwise I may have spent too much time thinking about my vagina.
2. I am going to write a novel in the month of November. How tough can it be?
3. I think I saw some aliens at the local burger joint. It was a Men in Black moment fo sho... As they walked through the restaurant I was convinced their skin was about to peel off. Spooky.
4. Speaking of spooky - Hatchetman, the movie. I was going to offer to write their screenplay but then I found out it was already written. - bummer.
5. The city where I live is looking for people to sit on their tourism board. Maybe I should apply.
6. I wonder if I should get my MBA? Maybe go back to school to be a teacher instead?
7. If my husband bought a mountain in WV would I be bored or could I finally be the hippie healer witch I've always wanted to be.
8. I need to fix my IPhone.
9. The NDAA and Obama's kill list. Ho.Ly. Shit. If I wasn't scared enough before the Patriot Act, this little piece of legislation is enough to make me lose my lunch. Wow - we're all screwed.
10. DRIP investments and compound interest. How much money can I make doing nothing but investing over the course of 20 years....
and finally
11. Zombie Walk. Plans for this weekend include getting my makeup done and wandering around our local steel town .... and, its a fund raiser - with Michael Jackson dancers - how cool is that?
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Are you the shoes you wear?
When you are little, adults like to make small talk by asking "what do you want to be when you grow up?"
It may be different for everyone but I think it changes a bit as you move through your childhood, and then your adolescence. I distinctly remember saying (in this order as I got older) - a teacher, an actress, a radio station programmer.
I did two of those things... kindof. The local theatre company counts I suppose, but I never got paid. I was on the radio and worked in tv for years but I never got really paid. I'm trying to decide if I should just go full circle back to my 8 year old self. I'm thinking about being a teacher.
I can officially say I believe I am having a bit of a mid life crisis. I always thought I would get to this point in my life and be the "big fish in a little sea". I decided long ago that I did not need to be in charge of the world but I had hoped that I would be in charge of something. Anything really that I cared about. Turns out I am not. I am just your average girl, doing an average job who (by my standards) is making very little impact on the community as a whole. I suppose I thought I would be some kind of public servant or in someway work to make my little corner of the world better. I'm not so sure that is how things turned out... and for that I am sad.
Here's what I do know.
I want to be happy to do what I do.
I'm not sure how. - note to self, define "what I do"
The not knowing how pisses me off.
Good Lord... I'm whining again. UGGHH!
It may be different for everyone but I think it changes a bit as you move through your childhood, and then your adolescence. I distinctly remember saying (in this order as I got older) - a teacher, an actress, a radio station programmer.
I did two of those things... kindof. The local theatre company counts I suppose, but I never got paid. I was on the radio and worked in tv for years but I never got really paid. I'm trying to decide if I should just go full circle back to my 8 year old self. I'm thinking about being a teacher.
I can officially say I believe I am having a bit of a mid life crisis. I always thought I would get to this point in my life and be the "big fish in a little sea". I decided long ago that I did not need to be in charge of the world but I had hoped that I would be in charge of something. Anything really that I cared about. Turns out I am not. I am just your average girl, doing an average job who (by my standards) is making very little impact on the community as a whole. I suppose I thought I would be some kind of public servant or in someway work to make my little corner of the world better. I'm not so sure that is how things turned out... and for that I am sad.
Here's what I do know.
I want to be happy to do what I do.
I'm not sure how. - note to self, define "what I do"
The not knowing how pisses me off.
Good Lord... I'm whining again. UGGHH!
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Non fat people calling themselves fat
The older I get the more accustomed I've become to hearing skinny people call themselves fat.
And, just because I understand why they would (that is an entirely separate post) - does not mean I can stand it.
It absolutely, positively drives me fucking crazy.
There appears to be some discrepancy about what defines a "fat" woman these days - I will take a few moments to give you a short bullet list.
Here's the short version. I think I may explode the next time some size 6 pixie stick is looking to me for support because she "just can't believe" she's going to eat another Twix bar. Kiss my size 18 ass, bitch.
And yes - I feel bad for you body dysmorphic sisters who are bulimic and anorexic and all the rest... but fuck you into next week if you think your poor body image even compares with the level of ridicule and disgust that a truly large size woman has to deal with on aweekly daily basis.
It is infuriating to hear a normal (read size 10-14) woman bitch about being fat. It makes my blood actually boil to hear a size 4 woman dare to do it.
And, just because I understand why they would (that is an entirely separate post) - does not mean I can stand it.
It absolutely, positively drives me fucking crazy.
There appears to be some discrepancy about what defines a "fat" woman these days - I will take a few moments to give you a short bullet list.
- If you can shop in a the misses or juniors section of any given store at any given time - YOU ARE NOT FAT
- If it has never occurred to you to be nervous that you are taking up too much room on the bench seat of the booth at the restaurant you are sharing - YOU ARE NOT FAT
- If you've never squeezed your ass into an airplane seat and then had to adjust the hand rests because they are wiggling up over the course of your flight due to your giggly hips - YOU ARE NOT FAT
- If you've never been eyeballed at: the bakery, the fast food store, the liquor store or the ice cream shop by a thin person who appears to be questioning your choices - YOU ARE NOT FAT
- If you've never been worried about breaking a weak looking chair or other piece of furniture - YOU ARE NOT FAT
- If you've never avoided sitting on someone else's lap because you are afraid you're going to hurt them - YOU ARE NOT FAT.
Here's the short version. I think I may explode the next time some size 6 pixie stick is looking to me for support because she "just can't believe" she's going to eat another Twix bar. Kiss my size 18 ass, bitch.
And yes - I feel bad for you body dysmorphic sisters who are bulimic and anorexic and all the rest... but fuck you into next week if you think your poor body image even compares with the level of ridicule and disgust that a truly large size woman has to deal with on a
It is infuriating to hear a normal (read size 10-14) woman bitch about being fat. It makes my blood actually boil to hear a size 4 woman dare to do it.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Content critique
I'm a blog rookie. I don't really write to an audience - but secretly wish I had one.
I won't be going out into the world anytime soon on a book tour. Until I write one.
And, I put my thoughts here so they don't spill out into my real world (which can be a bit tricky to navigate most days)
The very first time I had the ..."umph" (yes, that's the technical term and a bit more lady like than balls) to comment on another blog I reached out to a woman who made me laugh - runrollrepeat .
Turns out Cyndi was recently slammed by a group of catwomen at a site called Get off my Internets.
Of course, I had never heard of them before so I wanted to try to understand who these people were, what they do and more specifically what they did. Whoa... "catty" doesn't even begin to 'splain it Lucy.
Life is really just an extended high school. Regardless of where you are in your life there is a social hierarchy that exists in it's own right. I swear to God (or the goddess) - John Hughes hit the nail on the head back in the 80's with the Breakfast Club. In any given situation, you can break it down to the popular/princess, the jock, the criminal, the geek and the basket case. And - because I like to put a bow on everything like Johnny boy - we all have a bit of each.
Turns out some of the princesses in the microcosm of blogosphere regularly decide who is cool and who is not. I'm glad they've got that covered, I wouldn't want the pressure. There will always be bitchy/mean people (in fact, I can be one - I speak from experience).
Should my blog ever get read by anyone other than me, maybe someday - I too, will get flamed. I suppose in the nanosecond where I am judged by a mysterious psuedo-anonymous screen bitch I will feel hurt and upset. Then, I will realize that this blog and the microcosm that surrounds it is just part of my life and that they can't hurt me unless I give them power to.
I am a criminal, a princess, a jock, a geek and a basket case. So as a preemptive strike against those who would rail - fuck you ahead of time.
I won't be going out into the world anytime soon on a book tour. Until I write one.
And, I put my thoughts here so they don't spill out into my real world (which can be a bit tricky to navigate most days)
The very first time I had the ..."umph" (yes, that's the technical term and a bit more lady like than balls) to comment on another blog I reached out to a woman who made me laugh - runrollrepeat .
Turns out Cyndi was recently slammed by a group of catwomen at a site called Get off my Internets.
Of course, I had never heard of them before so I wanted to try to understand who these people were, what they do and more specifically what they did. Whoa... "catty" doesn't even begin to 'splain it Lucy.
Life is really just an extended high school. Regardless of where you are in your life there is a social hierarchy that exists in it's own right. I swear to God (or the goddess) - John Hughes hit the nail on the head back in the 80's with the Breakfast Club. In any given situation, you can break it down to the popular/princess, the jock, the criminal, the geek and the basket case. And - because I like to put a bow on everything like Johnny boy - we all have a bit of each.
Turns out some of the princesses in the microcosm of blogosphere regularly decide who is cool and who is not. I'm glad they've got that covered, I wouldn't want the pressure. There will always be bitchy/mean people (in fact, I can be one - I speak from experience).
Should my blog ever get read by anyone other than me, maybe someday - I too, will get flamed. I suppose in the nanosecond where I am judged by a mysterious psuedo-anonymous screen bitch I will feel hurt and upset. Then, I will realize that this blog and the microcosm that surrounds it is just part of my life and that they can't hurt me unless I give them power to.
I am a criminal, a princess, a jock, a geek and a basket case. So as a preemptive strike against those who would rail - fuck you ahead of time.
Friday, October 5, 2012
trinkets and things..
Shit, I missed another Thursday...
That being said, let me tell you a little story about yet another wonderful moment on my path to enlightenment - also known as "shit that I like".
Somehow or another, I have ended up with a world filled with things. Some of them I bought, some of them were given to me and some of them I outright stole. Of course most of the things I have bought - I needed for one reason or another and I have no emotional connection to most of it. Of the things that have been gifted, I keep only what I need and I re-gift the rest.. (I'm a giver, don't judge). But there exist in my life, a series of random things- emotional things, that - I am sad to say - are stolen.
Case in point -
My 1962 Levi Strauss jean jacket.
Stolen - 1989, NYC
From - my best friend Karen who was studying Art History at Fordham University while we rode the Subway trolling for booze. Said jacket was the rightful property of her long gone, alcoholic father who rocked the jacket for years before moving out of her house. It's rumored the jacket made it to Woodstock and back. It is ripped beyond repair in the sleeves, is stained and patched and has a few beads sewn into the collar. K let me wear it one night and I never gave it back. It rode the subway back to the safety of Long Island and eventually back to western NY, through multiple states and ended up in Ohio. She asked for it back about 15 years ago. I told her no. I love her, and I love the jacket and unfortunately for her - it's mine now. I reminds me of her, of freedom, and it looks cool as hell.
Case #2-
Ralph Lauren Bath Towel (you know, one of those really, really big ones that wraps around you a bunch of times)
Stolen - 2009, Jamboree in the Hills
From - "the Cinci" crew during a final cleanup of our campsite. So, for the uninitiated, there is a huge country music festival in the hills of Ohio every summer. This 4 day party includes mucho drinking, dancing and cavorting with like minded hillbillies who all grew up and can afford the overpriced camping and entrance fees. Years ago my local friends and I met another group from Cincinnati (didn't you ever wonder why one of the most conservative cities in the country sounds like "sin city"). There is always a kiddie pool and water fights and beer pong and food. One year while we were cleaning up, one of the women left her towel on my truck. I tried to return it to her at the time but she was distracted with other things and rather than interrupt her - I kept it for myself. It was soft, and fluffy and more expensive than anything I would ever buy for myself... (she's a pharmaceutical rep for christsakes - she can afford a damn nice towel). I still use this towel. I love this towel. It wraps around me twice. It is white. It reminds me of the beautiful things she told me about myself over one too many shitty American beers. I cannot give this towel back. I told her I had it, she told me to keep it. I used this towel on Thursday and thought of her.
Case #3
Hand Can Opener
Stolen - 1993, College Street House - Kent, Ohio
From - Matt (I can't remember his last name). Through divine intervention (and a friend named Mike), I ended up sharing a rooming house with about 7 other people in college. Like all marriages of convenience, we were a motley crew joined by our college rock affiliations and our propensity to wield sarcasm like swords. All 8 of us shared a bathroom and a kitchen in the basement. The rotating cast of characters that went in and out of the house (both as residents and guests) would be enough to write a rock anthem movie.
Anyway, after years in the house my soon to be husband moves in with a virtual kitchen in a box. He's got knives and plates and cups and kitchen tools and strainers and pots and pans and.... well, all the things you would actually need to cook with. As these items were sorely lacking before his arrival, we were all quite pleased to make room in the kitchen for his things. Many made grand gestures of moving chemistry projects, jig saws, paint etc.. to make room for a real kitchen. Then - we ate.. real food. Whoa.
As I mentioned the "college house for wayward rock stars startups " was the perfect place for parties and after one particularly raucous evening my soon to be husband flipped his shit when he went down into the kitchen to see his precious knives and tools scattered all over the kitchen. When he discovered that someone had used one of his knives to pry up the kitchen counter - it was all over.
Everything got packed up and locked - yes LOCKED- into a trunk never to be shared again. One of the things that got locked into the kitchen trunk, may not have been ours. In fact, it definitely wasn't (a hand held can opener with the name Matt written on it in black sharpie marker). We stole it. I stole it. Matt asked for it but we denied knowing what happened to it. We kept the opener. And even now I use it every week... almost 20 years later. Matt's can opener reminds me of the fun we had, and the trouble we could cause and what it was like to learn to get along with people.
I love some of the things I have stolen. They make me happy. Am I the only one?
That being said, let me tell you a little story about yet another wonderful moment on my path to enlightenment - also known as "shit that I like".
Somehow or another, I have ended up with a world filled with things. Some of them I bought, some of them were given to me and some of them I outright stole. Of course most of the things I have bought - I needed for one reason or another and I have no emotional connection to most of it. Of the things that have been gifted, I keep only what I need and I re-gift the rest.. (I'm a giver, don't judge). But there exist in my life, a series of random things- emotional things, that - I am sad to say - are stolen.
Case in point -
My 1962 Levi Strauss jean jacket.
Stolen - 1989, NYC
From - my best friend Karen who was studying Art History at Fordham University while we rode the Subway trolling for booze. Said jacket was the rightful property of her long gone, alcoholic father who rocked the jacket for years before moving out of her house. It's rumored the jacket made it to Woodstock and back. It is ripped beyond repair in the sleeves, is stained and patched and has a few beads sewn into the collar. K let me wear it one night and I never gave it back. It rode the subway back to the safety of Long Island and eventually back to western NY, through multiple states and ended up in Ohio. She asked for it back about 15 years ago. I told her no. I love her, and I love the jacket and unfortunately for her - it's mine now. I reminds me of her, of freedom, and it looks cool as hell.
Case #2-
Ralph Lauren Bath Towel (you know, one of those really, really big ones that wraps around you a bunch of times)
Stolen - 2009, Jamboree in the Hills
From - "the Cinci" crew during a final cleanup of our campsite. So, for the uninitiated, there is a huge country music festival in the hills of Ohio every summer. This 4 day party includes mucho drinking, dancing and cavorting with like minded hillbillies who all grew up and can afford the overpriced camping and entrance fees. Years ago my local friends and I met another group from Cincinnati (didn't you ever wonder why one of the most conservative cities in the country sounds like "sin city"). There is always a kiddie pool and water fights and beer pong and food. One year while we were cleaning up, one of the women left her towel on my truck. I tried to return it to her at the time but she was distracted with other things and rather than interrupt her - I kept it for myself. It was soft, and fluffy and more expensive than anything I would ever buy for myself... (she's a pharmaceutical rep for christsakes - she can afford a damn nice towel). I still use this towel. I love this towel. It wraps around me twice. It is white. It reminds me of the beautiful things she told me about myself over one too many shitty American beers. I cannot give this towel back. I told her I had it, she told me to keep it. I used this towel on Thursday and thought of her.
Case #3
Hand Can Opener
Stolen - 1993, College Street House - Kent, Ohio
From - Matt (I can't remember his last name). Through divine intervention (and a friend named Mike), I ended up sharing a rooming house with about 7 other people in college. Like all marriages of convenience, we were a motley crew joined by our college rock affiliations and our propensity to wield sarcasm like swords. All 8 of us shared a bathroom and a kitchen in the basement. The rotating cast of characters that went in and out of the house (both as residents and guests) would be enough to write a rock anthem movie.
Anyway, after years in the house my soon to be husband moves in with a virtual kitchen in a box. He's got knives and plates and cups and kitchen tools and strainers and pots and pans and.... well, all the things you would actually need to cook with. As these items were sorely lacking before his arrival, we were all quite pleased to make room in the kitchen for his things. Many made grand gestures of moving chemistry projects, jig saws, paint etc.. to make room for a real kitchen. Then - we ate.. real food. Whoa.
As I mentioned the "college house for wayward rock stars startups " was the perfect place for parties and after one particularly raucous evening my soon to be husband flipped his shit when he went down into the kitchen to see his precious knives and tools scattered all over the kitchen. When he discovered that someone had used one of his knives to pry up the kitchen counter - it was all over.
Everything got packed up and locked - yes LOCKED- into a trunk never to be shared again. One of the things that got locked into the kitchen trunk, may not have been ours. In fact, it definitely wasn't (a hand held can opener with the name Matt written on it in black sharpie marker). We stole it. I stole it. Matt asked for it but we denied knowing what happened to it. We kept the opener. And even now I use it every week... almost 20 years later. Matt's can opener reminds me of the fun we had, and the trouble we could cause and what it was like to learn to get along with people.
I love some of the things I have stolen. They make me happy. Am I the only one?
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