Thursday, May 26, 2005

No one really knows if crazy is catching...
I am almost always on the side of the powerful-woman-celebrity-who-is-being-persecuted (or prosecuted...still love ya, Martha!). But in Rosie O'Donnell's case, I'm going to have to make an exception. Someone emailed me her blog, and it's unquestionably one of the most bizarre I have ever seen. It's what I imagine Charles Manson's blog would be like. If it was a rock star, it would be Prince. It's the online equivalent of accidentally walking into a room where a dozen eye-rolling mouth-breathers are making god's eye crosses out of popsicle sticks for art therapy. My favorite gem: "MY BROTHER ED TOLD THEM THIS WOULD HAPPEN BUT NOOOOO THEY DID NOT LISTEN." The stream of consciousness ranting and lack of punctuation makes my brain hurt.

Go there...but be forewarned: I only spent about 10 minutes scanning through (mostly trying to figure out if it was for real...and it is) and now I can't seem to shake the urge to wear panties on my head. I know I didn't have that before.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Nocturnal Transmissions...
I think I've mentioned before that I really hate when people tell me "what they dreamed last night." I despise it. I want to sit them down and explain that someone else's dreams are NEVER interesting to hear. Dreams are only interesting to the person who dreamed them. They don't make sense to anyone else. What are you supposed to say in response to someone telling you their dream? "Um, that's...interesting?" I'm convinced that's where dream dictionaries came from: A lack of any other form of response to hearing about someone's sketchy, oddball, surreal dreams. "You dreamed about your teeth falling out? Well, that means you're probably working through anxiety."

Ugh. Whatever. I did have a point here.

Either I'm developing another personality, or someone is hijacking my brain at night, because I'm dreaming someone else's dreams. I'm not breaking my own rule to tell you this, since I'm technically telling you a dream I had that wasn't mine, but if you have the same peeve I do, stop reading now.

To sum it up, the dream involved a vacation to Greece (where I would NEVER go...I hate/fear sunny locales). Not only was Greece "my" idea, I was also involved with someone I used to know, who I no longer see, and with whom I have no urge to re-establish contact (None. Whatsoever). But in the dream I was his girlfriend (not in a million years), I was upset because he was being distant (also not in a million years). And I think I was French (I don't particularly like the French). In real life I can parler un peu, but I didn't understand most of what was coming out of my mouth in the dream. I did look up the only complete phrase I remembered this morning: "amarante à fleurs en queue." The best translation I could come up with was "love lies bleeding." It's colloquial; literally it means something about flower stalks.

I woke up feeling a little dirty and confused. So I looked up "dreaming in French" in a dream dictionary. It says: "Perhaps you are unwilling to understand or not giving enough attention to some waking relationship. Dreaming you are speaking French means an expression of love." Hmmm...definitely not mine. Not with that one, anyway.

It could have been the soy dogs with onion, relish & ketchup I had for dinner. Or one of my way-back French (Canadian) ancestors was trying to communicate via my dream. Or it could be the universe giving me a little smack on the back of the head for being intolerant by forcing me to watch a dream that I wouldn't listen to if it came out of someone else's mouth.

Monday, May 23, 2005

I remember when rock was young...
I found this site over the weekend and listened to like 10 of the shows while stuck inside fighting off a head cold and bored with the tee-vee. It made me nostalgic for the way some radio stations used to be. It wasn't always just song, song, commercial, annoying commercial, car commercial, song. I loved listening to the chatter between songs - DJs talking about what concerts they went to, who the best bass player in the world is, about the MUSIC.

That's why I like Pop Vultures so damn much. It was apparently only on the air a short time in the northeast, but it looks like they're trying to produce it for podcast now. Outside of This American Life, it's my new favorite radio program, if only for the show about Outkast (#6 if you're going there for a listen...). And #8 (the "guilty pleasures" show) is hiLARious.

I can't remember what I did before streaming audio.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

I got tagged...
I’ve been meme-tagged by Viv, who is not a lemming but cannot resist hurling herself off the cliff with them. Apparently, I can’t either.

I'm supposed to post the list of unfinished statements below, add one or two of my own, then finish 5 of them. Then I have to pick 3 other bitches to carry this godforsaken thing on.

If I could be an assassin's bullet
If I could be a member of the opposite sex
If I could be a list of blog questions
If I could be a ninja
If I could be a fly on the wall
If I could be a rodeo clown
If I could be totally at peace
If I could be a cat burglar
If I could be a supermodel
If I could be in a movie
If I could be an artist
If I could be a psychic
If I could be an emergency medical technician
If I could be a missionary
If I could be a chef
If I could be an architect
If I could be a linguist
If I could be a llama-rider
If I could be a bonnie pirate
If I could be a service member
If I could be an actor
If I could be a porn star
If I could be a chimney sweep
If I could be a masseuse
If I could be a taxi driver
If I could be a priest
If I could be the Sheriff Of Nottingham
If I could be on a reality TV show
If I could be a rich man
If I could be perfect
If I could be a comedian
If I could be a scary bear
If I could be a philandering wife

If I could be a member of the opposite sex it would probably take me a long time to figure out what how to work my new penis. Besides that, not much else would change.

If I could be on a reality TV show I’d trick everyone else into thinking I was really, really nice, but then screw them over during the final episode and win all the money.

If I could be a ninja, my first year would consist of nothing but kicking the asses of all of the people I think deserve an ass-kicking. Then I would get down to ninja business.

If I could be totally at peace...I’d save a lot of money on therapy (past & future).

If I could be in a movie it would be a movie about cheerleaders or drag queens and I would get to do my own stunts. And I would have super powers. And lots of wardrobe changes. And Keanu Reeves would be my co-star, but he wouldn’t have a single line.

The bitches that are up next: I choose Nobody, Melina, and Jackie (don’t hate me).

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Running numbers...
I've never been very good at managing my time, balancing my checkbook, or remembering that the note in my pocket that says "milk" means pick up milk on the way home (and not just cat food, O Magazine, and cigarettes). It doesn't sound that bad, but when you really look at the data it's kind of scary. Woman-with-50-cats scary. Senior-citizen-with-40-years-worth-of-newspapers-stacked-to-the-ceiling scary. Anne-Heche-wandering-in-the-desert scary.

This week, I have:
* 23 products for my hair (not including styling tools)
* 7 blank notebooks (because I've almost, almost, almost filled the one I'm carrying)
* 67 links on my Internet favorites to shopping web sites
* 12 items of clothing in my closet with the tags still on
* 9 unread books on my nightstand
* 42 already-read magazines that need to be clipped and tossed
* gone 487 miles past when the "engine service" light on my car came on
* 2 checks left (and haven't ordered new ones)
* 311 emails in my inbox that need responding to
* 2 days worth of clean underwear left.

Top that.

Thursday, May 12, 2005

Online shopping score...
I'm getting this just because it exists.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

I wonder why...
I always suspect very outspoken right-wing Republicans are hypocrites?

Spokane Mayor Jim West, a Republican and staunch opponent of gay rights, was caught getting his freak gay chat rooms.

More power to you, Jimmy-boy (if it really is only adult males), but you better come back from your leave of absence wearing a Gay Pride t-shirt and waving a rainbow flag. Because you have one big giant debt to pay back to the gay community, you stupid wanker.

And if the child molestation allegations are true, I hope they string you up by your balls send you away for a long time. To a maximum security women's prison where you'll be made the little bitch of a very beefy, mullet-sporting, CK One-wearing woman named "Ice Pick."

Monday, May 09, 2005

Mundane Monday: Random minutiae
What I am...

Listening to: Susie Suh (no, not the same one from 80s punk band Siouxsie & the Banshees). I heard her on NPR’s Weekend Edition, immediately downloaded the CD from iTunes, and have been listening to it (over and over) ever since. The last time I did that was with Tori Amos's latest (thanks, Al!).

Reading: An advance copy of New Stories from the South 2005. It's truly the best of the best short stories by southern authors...and saves me from reading through dozens of literary journals every month.

Watching: American Dad. I saw it for the first time last night and it was damn funny. Not surprised...I like Family Guy too.

Eating: Sunsweet dried fruit, "orchard mix." I wish they'd put fewer apricots in the bag.

Wearing: Gap head to toe, though I didn't realize that when I got dressed this morning. I usually try to mix it up a little bit. Now I feel like a mall rat.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Episode #83: In which she reveals too much about her social phobia
Yes, I'm a (sort of) social phobic. No, I'm not on medication for it. Yes, it's mostly because people bore me. No, I don't plan on doing anything about it.

AND because I wrote all about it in this month's issue of Skirt!, I've had a few friends ask me if I think they are boring small-talkers. For the record, I said no. But it does make me wonder why they immediately assumed I was talking about them.

I think my social phobia would go away if people would made an effort to be more entertaining, interesting, and talk more about things I specifically care about. Like my cat. And Adult Swim on Cartoon Network. And why deer and not deers is the plural of deer. And why the religious right seem to be taking over the country (smart people breed fewer offspring?). And any book that's not on a bestseller list.

People should talk less about the things that make me want to stab myself with a fork. Like what my husband does for a living (I don't have one, and if I did, who the f*ck cares what he does?). What her husband does for a living (trouble with your own identity, sweetie?). Or their neighbor's friend's cousin's college roommate who just started her own line of jewelry/handbags/baby blankets. Or their most recent enlightening experience with yoga/pilates/high colonics. And finally, no childbirth talk around child-free women. If I even think you said "mucus plug," I'm outta there.
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