Wow! Nick Cage,.. what can I say? I did not see this movie doing so well and I'm so glad it did. I loved it! There were moments when I forgot it was Nicholas Cage!!! He did amazing! And his young apprentice really fulfilled the role as well.
There was a slight "Gotham" feel to the city, and certainly to the lair. I loved the story line and how they combined the geek-gets-the-hot-girl theme along with the supernatural magical journey. If I had any complaint, I would say that I would have liked to understand more about the magic behind it all. Having said that, it was a great flick and well worth the twenty bucks!
Friday, July 23, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
From EP -- Movie Reviews
There are several reviews wrapped up here, so I'm sorry it's long but it's worth the read!!! LMAO just kidding... no really.
A-Team; Sort Of…
10 July 2010
Do not go see this movie if you think you're going to reminisce over your youth. However, if you, like me, can forget all about the television series, you'll do alright.This movie was great. I loved it. NOT the old A-Team, so don't go poking around. About the only link to the old series that even remotely reminded me of that show was the liberal playing of the theme song at varying tempos throughout the movie. I have to say that Liam Neeson is one of my favorite actors of all time. He kicked monumental ass in Batman Begins. And he floored me in Love Actually (chick flick,.. the only one I haven't wanted to walk out of). Awesome guy, really well played. And, I have to say that Rampage shocked me. I actually believed that BA had taken the path on non-violence and his MMA moves on the bad guy were epic. [EDITED THIS PART BECAUSE I WAS INCORRECT HERE, RAMPAGE IS NOT A BODY GUARD FOR ANY SLEEZY MOVIE COMPANIES,... I CONFUSED HIM WITH KIMBO SLICE,.. I KNOW *SHAKES HEAD SADLY* I'M A JACKASS]. And what can I say about Murdock? Easily my favorite character (we have a lot in common) and I loved the idea of a mid-inversion helicopter stall, even though the physics is all wrong and that it is actually IMPOSSIBLE on every level to do that stunt,.. still, it was just insane enough and epic enough to work for the film. And, explain to me why a heli pilot knows a damned thing about piloting a C-130??? ...or a tank for that matter?? But, that's the kind of movie I LOVE. It doesn't have to make sense if it’s good. Hell, someone just might figure out HOW to make that helicopter stunt work in real life!!! So, go see this movie, cause I wanna know how they work out a sequel!!!
Eclipse – Let The Pathos Begin
10 July 2010
Ok, so, my continued devotion to this movie series limps forward. I'm wondering if I have made an error somewhere regarding my commitment to seeing all the movies. Oh, and BTW,... I apologize in advance, for all the typos I won't be correcting as I am on a very short break and trying to stuff my face while I update my profile and stories.
Last night I took the kiddos to the drive-in (more on THAT in another story). What can I say about this movie that hasn't already been said in the previous movies? Not much. Except that the wolf-phasing mid-air and the fight scenes were super bad ass and almost worth the money. Oh, and, Taylor Lautner soaking wet wasn't a bad sight either!!! OMG,.. still feel like a fricken pedophile checking that BOY out, but, well, those thirty pounds of lean muscle he packed on for this flick were well placed. Kudos to his trainers.And, what can I say about Charlie?? Only that there has never been a more perfect book-to-movie casting EVER!!! He couldn't possibly be a better Charlie!!! What an awesome actor! I'm gonna IMDb him as soon as I have two seconds to spare. Alright, honestly, someone else needs to do that and just leave me the link!!! No time for movie trivia.
The rest of the cast. Well, Kristen Stewart's stuttering portrayal of the innocent and wall-flower-of-a-girl Bella is and was as usual, passable. Barely. And Robert Pattinson,.. how do you find the words? Even when trying to portray absolute joy and rapture, he still managed to look constipated. Not sure how those two emotions marry up, but there you have my biggest issue with the whole damned series (get it,... vampires,... 'damned'.....ok, enough). When you take a book, and go to screen, it doesn't always translate well. AND, when you have actors suffering from the degree of hubris that these kids apparently do, well, you end up with a movie where all the people are basically playing themselves with a few spins on who they think the characters 'really are.'
Now I only have one more left to endure, and most of it is gonna be newlywed passion and birthing. Holy Crap,.. I didn't think about that!!! I guess the worst is yet to come!!!
Toy Story 3 – Holy Crap!
5 July 2010
Ok, took my kiddos to see this flick. For starters,.. Oh My God!!! Can Pixar make a flick that DOESN'T make my soul weep??? The first movie was tough with the kid missing his favorite toys and all. But, the animation was so breathtaking you didn't really feel overwhelmed with grief or loss. The second movie was so hosed,... I closed my eyes through that flick. It was so f-ing sad and depressing. Holy hellhounds of Antioch!!! I couldn't quite breathe I was so verklempt. Oy vey!!! Depressing
Toy Story 3 was a lot like BEACHES. You know what's gonna happen in the end, it just sucks right up to that point. THEN, when he gives his precious friends to the little girl, you're like "OMG WTF!!!!" and "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" You watch the little toys gaze wistfully as Andy drives away forever. Holy Crap, I cried my eyes out. Then of course, all of us old crones just sat there crestfallen, remembering loved toys long lost. It was a painful reverie,.. especially for those of us who had shitty childhoods.
But, for all her flaws, my sister does rock from time to time!!! I don't have to cry over lost toys that are never to be found. I only had one toy growing up. Yes, my childhood sucked ass. Probably, it's why I work my ass off to give my kids all the things I didn't have, starting with a MOM. Well, my only toy growing up was a gift that I was given by a woman who had tried to adopt me when I was 2. She gave me a Mrs. Beasley doll. Just like the one from A Family Affair, from the seventies. Well, that doll is long gone,.. her glasses got eaten, by me. Her dress was used as a cape at one point. Her hair was set on fire at one point. Her string to her talking box was yanked out during a fist fight with my brother. And, she was funky and stained by the time she met her doom. I was always really sad at the loss.
And then, for my 35th birthday, my sister pulled off a magic trick. I opened my birthday present, and to my shock and surprise, was a brand new Mrs. Beasley doll, in mint condition, original packaging. The fucking doll must have cost a fortune. But, we grew up poor and in a truly fucked up environment. We never had anything. My doll was played with, aggressively and every single day. The wear and tear she suffered was from being my ONLY toy. And now, I have her back.
Getting back to the uber-painful Toy Story 3,.. we all have things from our youth we'd have liked to hang onto: looks, hair, scar-less bodies, perky breasts, thin waist, flawless skin... And since we can't hang onto those things in any tangible way, our youth is represented in our toys. Memories held in freeze frame, forever remembering that we were once young, naive, fresh and excited about the world of opportunity opened wide. That's what our toys represent for us, and their loss is marked so profoundly by the loss of all that was once our younger selves. It's what the movies represent,... the painful side of the cycle of life. Our time in the sun with our treasures is over and we march off into the autumn of our lives missing things.
SCREW YOU Toy Story!!! I'm taking my doll, and I'm going home.
Better Off Dead
19 May 2010
For those of you who were alive and sentient in the 80s, then you remember the Brat Pack, and all those films they made. Yeah, sure, I went and saw most of them. In particular, The Breakfast Club was prophetic, as my stoic parents sat there beside me, attempting to have a bonding moment with me, and my obnoxious teen-age arrogant self wondered if they understood the clever subtext. While those movies were, well, what they were...one movie from the 80s truly stands out in my mind as a defining moment for me.
My best friend, Molly and I were supposed to be studying at the library. Everything where we lived was walking distance. She and I did a lot of walking. So, there we were, and I didn't want to study. I certainly didn't want to study Italian Rennaissance Poetry. After much whining and complaining on my part, Molly said, "well, what DO you want to do?" I considered the options, and I had some money in my pocket. "Hey," I said, struck with lightning, "let's go see a movie!" She stared at me for a long time, before closing her books and putting them into her bag. I couldn't believe it, she wasn't usually convinced so easily to go along with one of my ideas.
So, we walked down to this one strip mall that had a tiny little theater. I had a good bundle of money, so I knew I could pay for us both to get in and get popcorn and soda. Well, then the theater had a sign that said if you were a student with ID, you got in for one dollar. Yeah, try finding THAT in a theater today. So, I bought us the tickets, soda, popcorn, hot dogs, and all the candy and junk food you'd need to get good and sick. I almost didn't care what we saw. Then, the movie started. We both laughed so hard and ate so much junk, I think we were both sick to our stomachs for a week! But the flick was so great. I've tried to find it on DVD, but haven't tried very hard since I'm sure its out there. If you get a chance to see it, try to think back to life in the 80s.
I mean, other than when I failed her, my mother barely registered that I was a sentient being. Outside that, I was pretty much an island. I think more and more kids today feel like that: islands, distant, remote and uncharted. This movie didn't resonate as well with my teens, they found it boring. But, when life was simpler, there was no internet, most houses didn't have a computer, let alone three, and most houses didn't have cable. The movies didn't cost a fortune, dating actually meant going places together by yourselves (and not with your parent who had to drive you), and the worst thing that happened at high school was getting your period during class, or having someone spread rumors about you. Its a sweet movie, about a different time.
Miss-Billing In The Trailers
21 April 2010
When I think of miss-billing, My Blue Heaven comes to mind. If you don't know what "miss-billing" is, it is when the trailer shows clips that make the movie seem like it's one genre, when it really isn't at all. In the case of My Blue Heaven, it was originally billed as this great comedy, and yet, all the really funny parts were IN the trailer. This happens a lot and it really frustrates me.
The most recent incidence of this is Kickass. It is billed as an action/comedy. It is not. Do not take your kids to see this movie. It is actually really dark and has some really seedy aspects to it. While the movie itself isn't bad, it certainly is NOT comedic, though there are a few funny parts. I just never want to explain to my younger kids why the ten year old girl with purple hair is getting beat nearly to death by the fully grown man.
You just end up having to see the movies, and take your chances from time to time. This goes along with the critics as well. Many movies that I love were panned by critics. Usually, their commentary includes words like "sophomoric" and "trite." But, I like silliness and potty humor is always funny, not matter who you are.
Not All Movies Are Good
28 March 2010
...but sometimes, there's enough worthwhile parts to make a bad movie worth seeing.
I've seen some really SH!TTY movies in my day. But usually, even in a truly terrible movie, there is some redeeming quality that makes the whole suckfest palatable. Honestly, there have been a few that were so terrible, that nothing could redeem them (reminiscing I can recall Angel Eyes and Dungeons and Dragons). There are also those silent surprises, the ones where I had no idea the movie existed, but found myself at the theatre at odd times with few choices, and happened to see a fantastic movie I would not have seen otherwise. On that list (and deserving of reference OUTSIDE parenthesis) are: Spirited Away, Love Actually (uber-chick flick, but still great) and Eternal Sunshine (has a much longer title, but I can't remember the whole thing -- Jim Carrey).
I will admit, that I read the Twilight series and fell in love. In my defense, I am NOT one of those rabid Twi-Moms. What happened was this, I had just had a baby via c-section, it was pretty traumatic (surgery sucks) and the day I arrived home from the hospital, I found myself alone with a newborn, a toddler and a six-inch smiley-face incision. None of the people I had arranged to help were able to help which left me totally f*cked and completely alone. I got pretty depressed, with Post-Partum Depression. My then-husband's reaction to my plight: he told me to "suck it up, because the family needs you right now." This baby was number 8, and so I had a lot on my plate, yet couldn't really move without mind-searing pain and I couldn't take the pain meds because I had to be alert enough to take care of the babies. A friend loaned me the series, and I sat on my shrinking @ss, nursed my baby, and read, read, read. Diving into a good series, a simple series that was easy to read (non-cerebral and flake-friendly), just made life suck less. And, by the time I was finished reading the series, the PPD had vanished, and I was not in pain any more and life was an enjoyable existence.
So, out of deference to the author, Stephenie Meyer, I committed to watching the movies -- because I was so helped by her story that I felt honor-bound to watch the movies. I wasn't surprised to see Kristen Stewart in the line-up. Her looks were and are a dead ringer to Bella. Robert Pattinson is NOT a comfortable match for Edward, but, as I was not consulted, whatever. I loved Shark Boy as Jacob and I thought that the actor chosen to play Charlie was as perfect a match as could be found. Twilight, in short, sucked. Sorry Twi-rabid-fans, but the movie sucked butt. Why does Edward's character skittle up trees like a spider monkey??? Why couldn't they simply do the "forest of Endor" bit, like they did in Star Wars VI twenty years ago? I mean, he RUNS fast. There isn't anything remotely hinting at climbing trees with the finger-nails. Its not only ridiculous, and silly, but it does NOT translate well onto the big screen. I laughed my @ss off in the theatre watching those scenes (pissing off every tween within earshot). And what's with Edward's perpetual constipation??? I wouldn't think a purely liquid diet would wreek that kind of havoc on the digestive tract. But there he is, scene after painfully constricted scene, looking like he needs a pessary.
It was with deep chagrin that I purchased the New Moon movie. I didn't go see it at the theatre. I would have preferred to see it at the theatre, but I just never found the time (8 kids, divorce, you get it). So, I LOVED LOVED LOVED Taylor Lautner. Shark boy did good. He is gorgeous and my oh my has he grown into one impeccable specimen. Holy Sh!t Batman, that boy is beautiful. Of course, at my middle-age, I feel like a pedophile. Perhaps this is what Hugh Hefner feels like. But, I digress.
Edward still seemed (though we see less of him) constipated. Kristen Stewart IS NOT a good match for Bella, she brings a pissy quality to the character that wasn't needed or wanted. I end up wanting to smack her. The phasing scenes were awesome, and I was seriously worried here because of the misstep of the "skittling up the trees" bit from the first flick. Still, there were significant pieces that were,...silly. But, it was better than the first. Hopefully, but the next movie, these actors will settle into the characters more, and stop trying to put their personal spin on it. The characters were well written and fully developed on their own. So, its been a bit tough watching Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson playing basically themselves with undertones of the characters. If you've seen Speak, with Kristen Stewart, than you've seen her portrayal of Bella. If you've seen Robert in ANYTHING since Harry Potter IV, then you've seen him portray his version of Edward. This is why avid book readers go ballistic when their passion comes to life on the silver screen: an actor, suffering from a self-aggrandizing ego who sees a new spin for the character. It isn't just about adding things that are unnecessary, or removing pivotal plot points; its about telling the tale of the characters. This requires that the character be portrayed as written. Sure, take artistic license and change up the look a LITTLE. Or maybe, the dialog needs to be altered here or there. But to change the essence of the character, well, that changes how that character would respond, react. And that makes the story get choppy and disjointed. It stops making sense. The cohesiveness is broken and you can't just shove the broken bits together to make the movie. That's why it feels like most of Twilight got left on the editing room floor. New Moon has the same dilemma, although not as bad.
I hope that Eclipse and Breaking Dawn are better. Even if they are not, I will still go see the movies, and watch the actors try to breathe life into the characters; my friends who walked me through a dark spot in my life, and helped me see the sunshine again.
A-Team; Sort Of…
10 July 2010
Do not go see this movie if you think you're going to reminisce over your youth. However, if you, like me, can forget all about the television series, you'll do alright.This movie was great. I loved it. NOT the old A-Team, so don't go poking around. About the only link to the old series that even remotely reminded me of that show was the liberal playing of the theme song at varying tempos throughout the movie. I have to say that Liam Neeson is one of my favorite actors of all time. He kicked monumental ass in Batman Begins. And he floored me in Love Actually (chick flick,.. the only one I haven't wanted to walk out of). Awesome guy, really well played. And, I have to say that Rampage shocked me. I actually believed that BA had taken the path on non-violence and his MMA moves on the bad guy were epic. [EDITED THIS PART BECAUSE I WAS INCORRECT HERE, RAMPAGE IS NOT A BODY GUARD FOR ANY SLEEZY MOVIE COMPANIES,... I CONFUSED HIM WITH KIMBO SLICE,.. I KNOW *SHAKES HEAD SADLY* I'M A JACKASS]. And what can I say about Murdock? Easily my favorite character (we have a lot in common) and I loved the idea of a mid-inversion helicopter stall, even though the physics is all wrong and that it is actually IMPOSSIBLE on every level to do that stunt,.. still, it was just insane enough and epic enough to work for the film. And, explain to me why a heli pilot knows a damned thing about piloting a C-130??? ...or a tank for that matter?? But, that's the kind of movie I LOVE. It doesn't have to make sense if it’s good. Hell, someone just might figure out HOW to make that helicopter stunt work in real life!!! So, go see this movie, cause I wanna know how they work out a sequel!!!
Eclipse – Let The Pathos Begin
10 July 2010
Ok, so, my continued devotion to this movie series limps forward. I'm wondering if I have made an error somewhere regarding my commitment to seeing all the movies. Oh, and BTW,... I apologize in advance, for all the typos I won't be correcting as I am on a very short break and trying to stuff my face while I update my profile and stories.
Last night I took the kiddos to the drive-in (more on THAT in another story). What can I say about this movie that hasn't already been said in the previous movies? Not much. Except that the wolf-phasing mid-air and the fight scenes were super bad ass and almost worth the money. Oh, and, Taylor Lautner soaking wet wasn't a bad sight either!!! OMG,.. still feel like a fricken pedophile checking that BOY out, but, well, those thirty pounds of lean muscle he packed on for this flick were well placed. Kudos to his trainers.And, what can I say about Charlie?? Only that there has never been a more perfect book-to-movie casting EVER!!! He couldn't possibly be a better Charlie!!! What an awesome actor! I'm gonna IMDb him as soon as I have two seconds to spare. Alright, honestly, someone else needs to do that and just leave me the link!!! No time for movie trivia.
The rest of the cast. Well, Kristen Stewart's stuttering portrayal of the innocent and wall-flower-of-a-girl Bella is and was as usual, passable. Barely. And Robert Pattinson,.. how do you find the words? Even when trying to portray absolute joy and rapture, he still managed to look constipated. Not sure how those two emotions marry up, but there you have my biggest issue with the whole damned series (get it,... vampires,... 'damned'.....ok, enough). When you take a book, and go to screen, it doesn't always translate well. AND, when you have actors suffering from the degree of hubris that these kids apparently do, well, you end up with a movie where all the people are basically playing themselves with a few spins on who they think the characters 'really are.'
Now I only have one more left to endure, and most of it is gonna be newlywed passion and birthing. Holy Crap,.. I didn't think about that!!! I guess the worst is yet to come!!!
Toy Story 3 – Holy Crap!
5 July 2010
Ok, took my kiddos to see this flick. For starters,.. Oh My God!!! Can Pixar make a flick that DOESN'T make my soul weep??? The first movie was tough with the kid missing his favorite toys and all. But, the animation was so breathtaking you didn't really feel overwhelmed with grief or loss. The second movie was so hosed,... I closed my eyes through that flick. It was so f-ing sad and depressing. Holy hellhounds of Antioch!!! I couldn't quite breathe I was so verklempt. Oy vey!!! Depressing
Toy Story 3 was a lot like BEACHES. You know what's gonna happen in the end, it just sucks right up to that point. THEN, when he gives his precious friends to the little girl, you're like "OMG WTF!!!!" and "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" You watch the little toys gaze wistfully as Andy drives away forever. Holy Crap, I cried my eyes out. Then of course, all of us old crones just sat there crestfallen, remembering loved toys long lost. It was a painful reverie,.. especially for those of us who had shitty childhoods.
But, for all her flaws, my sister does rock from time to time!!! I don't have to cry over lost toys that are never to be found. I only had one toy growing up. Yes, my childhood sucked ass. Probably, it's why I work my ass off to give my kids all the things I didn't have, starting with a MOM. Well, my only toy growing up was a gift that I was given by a woman who had tried to adopt me when I was 2. She gave me a Mrs. Beasley doll. Just like the one from A Family Affair, from the seventies. Well, that doll is long gone,.. her glasses got eaten, by me. Her dress was used as a cape at one point. Her hair was set on fire at one point. Her string to her talking box was yanked out during a fist fight with my brother. And, she was funky and stained by the time she met her doom. I was always really sad at the loss.
And then, for my 35th birthday, my sister pulled off a magic trick. I opened my birthday present, and to my shock and surprise, was a brand new Mrs. Beasley doll, in mint condition, original packaging. The fucking doll must have cost a fortune. But, we grew up poor and in a truly fucked up environment. We never had anything. My doll was played with, aggressively and every single day. The wear and tear she suffered was from being my ONLY toy. And now, I have her back.
Getting back to the uber-painful Toy Story 3,.. we all have things from our youth we'd have liked to hang onto: looks, hair, scar-less bodies, perky breasts, thin waist, flawless skin... And since we can't hang onto those things in any tangible way, our youth is represented in our toys. Memories held in freeze frame, forever remembering that we were once young, naive, fresh and excited about the world of opportunity opened wide. That's what our toys represent for us, and their loss is marked so profoundly by the loss of all that was once our younger selves. It's what the movies represent,... the painful side of the cycle of life. Our time in the sun with our treasures is over and we march off into the autumn of our lives missing things.
SCREW YOU Toy Story!!! I'm taking my doll, and I'm going home.
Better Off Dead
19 May 2010
For those of you who were alive and sentient in the 80s, then you remember the Brat Pack, and all those films they made. Yeah, sure, I went and saw most of them. In particular, The Breakfast Club was prophetic, as my stoic parents sat there beside me, attempting to have a bonding moment with me, and my obnoxious teen-age arrogant self wondered if they understood the clever subtext. While those movies were, well, what they were...one movie from the 80s truly stands out in my mind as a defining moment for me.
My best friend, Molly and I were supposed to be studying at the library. Everything where we lived was walking distance. She and I did a lot of walking. So, there we were, and I didn't want to study. I certainly didn't want to study Italian Rennaissance Poetry. After much whining and complaining on my part, Molly said, "well, what DO you want to do?" I considered the options, and I had some money in my pocket. "Hey," I said, struck with lightning, "let's go see a movie!" She stared at me for a long time, before closing her books and putting them into her bag. I couldn't believe it, she wasn't usually convinced so easily to go along with one of my ideas.
So, we walked down to this one strip mall that had a tiny little theater. I had a good bundle of money, so I knew I could pay for us both to get in and get popcorn and soda. Well, then the theater had a sign that said if you were a student with ID, you got in for one dollar. Yeah, try finding THAT in a theater today. So, I bought us the tickets, soda, popcorn, hot dogs, and all the candy and junk food you'd need to get good and sick. I almost didn't care what we saw. Then, the movie started. We both laughed so hard and ate so much junk, I think we were both sick to our stomachs for a week! But the flick was so great. I've tried to find it on DVD, but haven't tried very hard since I'm sure its out there. If you get a chance to see it, try to think back to life in the 80s.
I mean, other than when I failed her, my mother barely registered that I was a sentient being. Outside that, I was pretty much an island. I think more and more kids today feel like that: islands, distant, remote and uncharted. This movie didn't resonate as well with my teens, they found it boring. But, when life was simpler, there was no internet, most houses didn't have a computer, let alone three, and most houses didn't have cable. The movies didn't cost a fortune, dating actually meant going places together by yourselves (and not with your parent who had to drive you), and the worst thing that happened at high school was getting your period during class, or having someone spread rumors about you. Its a sweet movie, about a different time.
Miss-Billing In The Trailers
21 April 2010
When I think of miss-billing, My Blue Heaven comes to mind. If you don't know what "miss-billing" is, it is when the trailer shows clips that make the movie seem like it's one genre, when it really isn't at all. In the case of My Blue Heaven, it was originally billed as this great comedy, and yet, all the really funny parts were IN the trailer. This happens a lot and it really frustrates me.
The most recent incidence of this is Kickass. It is billed as an action/comedy. It is not. Do not take your kids to see this movie. It is actually really dark and has some really seedy aspects to it. While the movie itself isn't bad, it certainly is NOT comedic, though there are a few funny parts. I just never want to explain to my younger kids why the ten year old girl with purple hair is getting beat nearly to death by the fully grown man.
You just end up having to see the movies, and take your chances from time to time. This goes along with the critics as well. Many movies that I love were panned by critics. Usually, their commentary includes words like "sophomoric" and "trite." But, I like silliness and potty humor is always funny, not matter who you are.
Not All Movies Are Good
28 March 2010
...but sometimes, there's enough worthwhile parts to make a bad movie worth seeing.
I've seen some really SH!TTY movies in my day. But usually, even in a truly terrible movie, there is some redeeming quality that makes the whole suckfest palatable. Honestly, there have been a few that were so terrible, that nothing could redeem them (reminiscing I can recall Angel Eyes and Dungeons and Dragons). There are also those silent surprises, the ones where I had no idea the movie existed, but found myself at the theatre at odd times with few choices, and happened to see a fantastic movie I would not have seen otherwise. On that list (and deserving of reference OUTSIDE parenthesis) are: Spirited Away, Love Actually (uber-chick flick, but still great) and Eternal Sunshine (has a much longer title, but I can't remember the whole thing -- Jim Carrey).
I will admit, that I read the Twilight series and fell in love. In my defense, I am NOT one of those rabid Twi-Moms. What happened was this, I had just had a baby via c-section, it was pretty traumatic (surgery sucks) and the day I arrived home from the hospital, I found myself alone with a newborn, a toddler and a six-inch smiley-face incision. None of the people I had arranged to help were able to help which left me totally f*cked and completely alone. I got pretty depressed, with Post-Partum Depression. My then-husband's reaction to my plight: he told me to "suck it up, because the family needs you right now." This baby was number 8, and so I had a lot on my plate, yet couldn't really move without mind-searing pain and I couldn't take the pain meds because I had to be alert enough to take care of the babies. A friend loaned me the series, and I sat on my shrinking @ss, nursed my baby, and read, read, read. Diving into a good series, a simple series that was easy to read (non-cerebral and flake-friendly), just made life suck less. And, by the time I was finished reading the series, the PPD had vanished, and I was not in pain any more and life was an enjoyable existence.
So, out of deference to the author, Stephenie Meyer, I committed to watching the movies -- because I was so helped by her story that I felt honor-bound to watch the movies. I wasn't surprised to see Kristen Stewart in the line-up. Her looks were and are a dead ringer to Bella. Robert Pattinson is NOT a comfortable match for Edward, but, as I was not consulted, whatever. I loved Shark Boy as Jacob and I thought that the actor chosen to play Charlie was as perfect a match as could be found. Twilight, in short, sucked. Sorry Twi-rabid-fans, but the movie sucked butt. Why does Edward's character skittle up trees like a spider monkey??? Why couldn't they simply do the "forest of Endor" bit, like they did in Star Wars VI twenty years ago? I mean, he RUNS fast. There isn't anything remotely hinting at climbing trees with the finger-nails. Its not only ridiculous, and silly, but it does NOT translate well onto the big screen. I laughed my @ss off in the theatre watching those scenes (pissing off every tween within earshot). And what's with Edward's perpetual constipation??? I wouldn't think a purely liquid diet would wreek that kind of havoc on the digestive tract. But there he is, scene after painfully constricted scene, looking like he needs a pessary.
It was with deep chagrin that I purchased the New Moon movie. I didn't go see it at the theatre. I would have preferred to see it at the theatre, but I just never found the time (8 kids, divorce, you get it). So, I LOVED LOVED LOVED Taylor Lautner. Shark boy did good. He is gorgeous and my oh my has he grown into one impeccable specimen. Holy Sh!t Batman, that boy is beautiful. Of course, at my middle-age, I feel like a pedophile. Perhaps this is what Hugh Hefner feels like. But, I digress.
Edward still seemed (though we see less of him) constipated. Kristen Stewart IS NOT a good match for Bella, she brings a pissy quality to the character that wasn't needed or wanted. I end up wanting to smack her. The phasing scenes were awesome, and I was seriously worried here because of the misstep of the "skittling up the trees" bit from the first flick. Still, there were significant pieces that were,...silly. But, it was better than the first. Hopefully, but the next movie, these actors will settle into the characters more, and stop trying to put their personal spin on it. The characters were well written and fully developed on their own. So, its been a bit tough watching Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson playing basically themselves with undertones of the characters. If you've seen Speak, with Kristen Stewart, than you've seen her portrayal of Bella. If you've seen Robert in ANYTHING since Harry Potter IV, then you've seen him portray his version of Edward. This is why avid book readers go ballistic when their passion comes to life on the silver screen: an actor, suffering from a self-aggrandizing ego who sees a new spin for the character. It isn't just about adding things that are unnecessary, or removing pivotal plot points; its about telling the tale of the characters. This requires that the character be portrayed as written. Sure, take artistic license and change up the look a LITTLE. Or maybe, the dialog needs to be altered here or there. But to change the essence of the character, well, that changes how that character would respond, react. And that makes the story get choppy and disjointed. It stops making sense. The cohesiveness is broken and you can't just shove the broken bits together to make the movie. That's why it feels like most of Twilight got left on the editing room floor. New Moon has the same dilemma, although not as bad.
I hope that Eclipse and Breaking Dawn are better. Even if they are not, I will still go see the movies, and watch the actors try to breathe life into the characters; my friends who walked me through a dark spot in my life, and helped me see the sunshine again.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Never Ask What Can Happen Next, Cause You Won't Believe What Can
Everytime my life makes sense, starts to move in a new direction, some new bullshit pops up to remind me that I am not in control of my pathetic life. Just when I know who I am and where I'm headed, the rug gets ripped out from beneath my feet. I'm never on solid ground. Never
My main issue: I trust people. I believe in them. I am the world's best corner man. Who is my corner man?? No one. I stand here all by my fucking self. Alone, since my biological mother fucked off with the most recent guy she was fucking,,... I am alone.
Here I sit, all broken hearted.... yeah, fuck that.
Here I sit wondering where the characteristics like honor, faith, and dedication have gone. Oh yeah, and that awesome thing that seems to be missing: character. Fuck you if you can't handle the truth. You know??? Holy crap. We all have shit to get through. What's the point of making other people's shit worse? Do you really feel better about your own pile of crap? If you do, then you're more fucked than I am, and that is saying something.
Here's where the rug gets pulled out: people are people, and I just keep trusting and expecting that people are going to live up to what they say they're gonna live up to. When they fail, they think they've failed me. But, they haven't failed me. Sure, I think it sucks. I depend on people, sometimes, rarely, and I need them to come through on their end. When they don't, its up to me to make the ends meet. And, I usually do. Really, they fail themselves. And they can be pissed all they want to, even pissed at me. But, if you let me down, was it because I expected too much of you,... or because you knew you weren't up to snuff?
Bullsheedo. That's what I see. A whole lot of flubbing resumes, and a whole lot of "faking it" from folks who hope they'll eventually "make it." It doesn't matter where you start, only that you have a direction. It doesn't matter what obstacles stand in your way, only that you strive to overcome them. And, it doesn't matter who works against you, so long as you aren't doing the same to others. Be a positive entity in the world, that's it. Be a positive entity. And for God's sakes, stop telling me that I'm your everything, when I'm not ANYTHING you want or need.
My main issue: I trust people. I believe in them. I am the world's best corner man. Who is my corner man?? No one. I stand here all by my fucking self. Alone, since my biological mother fucked off with the most recent guy she was fucking,,... I am alone.
Here I sit, all broken hearted.... yeah, fuck that.
Here I sit wondering where the characteristics like honor, faith, and dedication have gone. Oh yeah, and that awesome thing that seems to be missing: character. Fuck you if you can't handle the truth. You know??? Holy crap. We all have shit to get through. What's the point of making other people's shit worse? Do you really feel better about your own pile of crap? If you do, then you're more fucked than I am, and that is saying something.
Here's where the rug gets pulled out: people are people, and I just keep trusting and expecting that people are going to live up to what they say they're gonna live up to. When they fail, they think they've failed me. But, they haven't failed me. Sure, I think it sucks. I depend on people, sometimes, rarely, and I need them to come through on their end. When they don't, its up to me to make the ends meet. And, I usually do. Really, they fail themselves. And they can be pissed all they want to, even pissed at me. But, if you let me down, was it because I expected too much of you,... or because you knew you weren't up to snuff?
Bullsheedo. That's what I see. A whole lot of flubbing resumes, and a whole lot of "faking it" from folks who hope they'll eventually "make it." It doesn't matter where you start, only that you have a direction. It doesn't matter what obstacles stand in your way, only that you strive to overcome them. And, it doesn't matter who works against you, so long as you aren't doing the same to others. Be a positive entity in the world, that's it. Be a positive entity. And for God's sakes, stop telling me that I'm your everything, when I'm not ANYTHING you want or need.
EP STORY No Time Left
I Hate Fake People
26 April 2010
Seriously, I have no time left for fake people. I have no time left for posers. And yet, I'm sitting here writing about these asshats like they matter. Clearly they matter to me on some level. It's just so frustrating. I have to be there, on top of my game, when I'm on shift, when I'm with my kids, when I'm asleep for crying out loud. I don't have time to be a fricken' poser, or to beat around the bush. I have time to hit the nail on the head, get straight to the point, dig deep and get this done. When I find time to bop around online, or kick it with my friends, I cherish that time and make the most of it. Even when I'm shaking things down and letting go of my professional self, I still keep it real--stay true to who I am. Isn't everyone too busy to be bothering to be fake and stupid? Apparently not. Why can't people EVER just cut to the skinny and be honest?
26 April 2010
Seriously, I have no time left for fake people. I have no time left for posers. And yet, I'm sitting here writing about these asshats like they matter. Clearly they matter to me on some level. It's just so frustrating. I have to be there, on top of my game, when I'm on shift, when I'm with my kids, when I'm asleep for crying out loud. I don't have time to be a fricken' poser, or to beat around the bush. I have time to hit the nail on the head, get straight to the point, dig deep and get this done. When I find time to bop around online, or kick it with my friends, I cherish that time and make the most of it. Even when I'm shaking things down and letting go of my professional self, I still keep it real--stay true to who I am. Isn't everyone too busy to be bothering to be fake and stupid? Apparently not. Why can't people EVER just cut to the skinny and be honest?
EP STORY Miss Billing In The Trailers
I Love Movies
21 April 2010
When I think of miss-billing, My Blue Heaven comes to mind. If you don't know what "miss-billing" is, it is when the trailer shows clips that make the movie seem like it's one genre, when it really isn't at all. In the case of My Blue Heaven, it was originally billed as this great comedy, and yet, all the really funny parts were IN the trailer. This happens a lot and it really frustrates me.
The most recent incidence of this is Kickass. It is billed as an action/comedy. It is not. Do not take your kids to see this movie. It is actually really dark and has some really seedy aspects to it. While the movie itself isn't bad, it certainly is NOT comedic, though there are a few funny parts. I just never want to explain to my younger kids why the ten year old girl with purple hair is getting beat nearly to death by the fully grown man.
You just end up having to see the movies, and take your chances from time to time. This goes along with the critics as well. Many movies that I love were panned by critics. Usually, their commentary includes words like "sophomoric" and "trite." But, I like silliness and potty humor is always funny, not matter who you are.
21 April 2010
When I think of miss-billing, My Blue Heaven comes to mind. If you don't know what "miss-billing" is, it is when the trailer shows clips that make the movie seem like it's one genre, when it really isn't at all. In the case of My Blue Heaven, it was originally billed as this great comedy, and yet, all the really funny parts were IN the trailer. This happens a lot and it really frustrates me.
The most recent incidence of this is Kickass. It is billed as an action/comedy. It is not. Do not take your kids to see this movie. It is actually really dark and has some really seedy aspects to it. While the movie itself isn't bad, it certainly is NOT comedic, though there are a few funny parts. I just never want to explain to my younger kids why the ten year old girl with purple hair is getting beat nearly to death by the fully grown man.
You just end up having to see the movies, and take your chances from time to time. This goes along with the critics as well. Many movies that I love were panned by critics. Usually, their commentary includes words like "sophomoric" and "trite." But, I like silliness and potty humor is always funny, not matter who you are.
EP STORY Not All Movies Are Good
I Love Movies
28 March 2010
Not all movies are good;
...but sometimes, there's enough worthwhile parts to make a bad movie worth seeing.
I've seen some really SH!TTY movies in my day. But usually, even in a truly terrible movie, there is some redeeming quality that makes the whole suckfest palatable. Honestly, there have been a few that were so terrible, that nothing could redeem them (reminiscing I can recall Angel Eyes and Dungeons and Dragons). There are also those silent surprises, the ones where I had no idea the movie existed, but found myself at the theatre at odd times with few choices, and happened to see a fantastic movie I would not have seen otherwise. On that list (and deserving of reference OUTSIDE parenthesis) are: Spirited Away, Love Actually (uber-chick flick, but still great) and Eternal Sunshine (has a much longer title, but I can't remember the whole thing -- Jim Carrey).
I will admit, that I read the Twilight series and fell in love. In my defense, I am NOT one of those rabid Twi-Moms. What happened was this, I had just had a baby via c-section, it was pretty traumatic (surgery sucks) and the day I arrived home from the hospital, I found myself alone with a newborn, a toddler and a six-inch smiley-face incision. None of the people I had arranged to help were able to help which left me totally fucked and completely alone. I got pretty depressed, with Post-Partum Depression. I was told to "suck it up, because the family needs you right now." This baby was number 8, and so I had a lot on my plate, yet couldn't really move without mind-searing pain and I couldn't take the pain meds because I had to be alert enough to take care of the babies. A friend loaned me the series, and I sat on my shrinking ass, nursed my baby, and read, read, read. Diving into a good series, a simple series that was easy to read (non-cerebral and flake-friendly), just made life suck less. And, by the time I was finished reading the series, the PPD had vanished, and I was not in pain any more and life was an enjoyable existence.
So, out of deference to the author, Stephenie Meyer, I committed to watching the movies -- because I was so helped by her story that I felt honor-bound to watch the movies. I wasn't surprised to see Kristen Stewart in the line-up. Her looks were and are a dead ringer to Bella. Robert Pattinson is NOT a comfortable match for Edward, but, as I was not consulted, whatever. I loved Shark Boy as Jacob and I thought that the actor chosen to play Charlie was as perfect a match as could be found. Twilight, in short, sucked. Sorry Twi-rabid-fans, but the movie sucked butt. Why does Edward's character skittle up trees like a spider monkey??? Why couldn't they simply do the "forest of Endor" bit, like they did in Star Wars VI twenty years ago? I mean, he RUNS fast. There isn't anything remotely hinting at climbing trees with the finger-nails. Its not only ridiculous, and silly, but it does NOT translate well onto the big screen. I laughed my @ss off in the theatre watching those scenes (pissing off every tween within earshot). And what's with Edward's perpetual constipation??? I wouldn't think a purely liquid diet would wreek that kind of havoc on the digestive tract. But there he is, scene after painfully constricted scene, looking like he needs a pessary.
It was with deep chagrin that I purchased the New Moon movie. I didn't go see it at the theatre. I would have preferred to see it at the theatre, but I just never found the time. So, I LOVED LOVED LOVED Taylor Lautner. Shark boy did good. He is gorgeous and my oh my has he grown into one impeccable specimen. Holy Shit Batman, that boy is beautiful. Of course, at my middle-age, I feel like a pedophile. Perhaps this is what Hugh Hefner feels like. But, I digress.
Edward still seemed (though we see less of him) constipated. Kristen Stewart IS NOT a good match for Bella, she brings a pissy quality to the character that wasn't needed or wanted. I end up wanting to smack her. The phasing scenes were awesome, and I was seriously worried here because of the misstep of the "skittling up the trees" bit from the first flick. Still, there were significant pieces that were,...silly. But, it was better than the first. Hopefully, but the next movie, these actors will settle into the characters more, and stop trying to put their personal spin on it. The characters were well written and fully developed on their own. So, its been a bit tough watching Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson playing basically themselves with undertones of the characters. If you've seen Speak, with Kristen Stewart, than you've seen her portrayal of Bella. If you've seen Robert in ANYTHING since Harry Potter IV, then you've seen him portray his version of Edward. This is why avid book readers go ballistic when their passion comes to life on the silver screen: an actor, suffering from a self-aggrandizing ego who sees a new spin for the character. It isn't just about adding things that are unnecessary, or removing pivotal plot points; its about telling the tale of the characters. This requires that the character be portrayed as written. Sure, take artistic license and change up the look a LITTLE. Or maybe, the dialog needs to be altered here or there. But to change the essence of the character, well, that changes how that character would respond, react. And that makes the story get choppy and disjointed. It stops making sense. The cohesiveness is broken and you can't just shove the broken bits together to make the movie. That's why it feels like most of Twilight got left on the editing room floor. New Moon has the same dilemma, although not as bad.
I hope that Eclipse and Breaking Dawn are better. Even if they are not, I will still go see the movies, and watch the actors try to breathe life into the characters; my friends who walked me through a dark spot in my life, and helped me see the sunshine again.
28 March 2010
Not all movies are good;
...but sometimes, there's enough worthwhile parts to make a bad movie worth seeing.
I've seen some really SH!TTY movies in my day. But usually, even in a truly terrible movie, there is some redeeming quality that makes the whole suckfest palatable. Honestly, there have been a few that were so terrible, that nothing could redeem them (reminiscing I can recall Angel Eyes and Dungeons and Dragons). There are also those silent surprises, the ones where I had no idea the movie existed, but found myself at the theatre at odd times with few choices, and happened to see a fantastic movie I would not have seen otherwise. On that list (and deserving of reference OUTSIDE parenthesis) are: Spirited Away, Love Actually (uber-chick flick, but still great) and Eternal Sunshine (has a much longer title, but I can't remember the whole thing -- Jim Carrey).
I will admit, that I read the Twilight series and fell in love. In my defense, I am NOT one of those rabid Twi-Moms. What happened was this, I had just had a baby via c-section, it was pretty traumatic (surgery sucks) and the day I arrived home from the hospital, I found myself alone with a newborn, a toddler and a six-inch smiley-face incision. None of the people I had arranged to help were able to help which left me totally fucked and completely alone. I got pretty depressed, with Post-Partum Depression. I was told to "suck it up, because the family needs you right now." This baby was number 8, and so I had a lot on my plate, yet couldn't really move without mind-searing pain and I couldn't take the pain meds because I had to be alert enough to take care of the babies. A friend loaned me the series, and I sat on my shrinking ass, nursed my baby, and read, read, read. Diving into a good series, a simple series that was easy to read (non-cerebral and flake-friendly), just made life suck less. And, by the time I was finished reading the series, the PPD had vanished, and I was not in pain any more and life was an enjoyable existence.
So, out of deference to the author, Stephenie Meyer, I committed to watching the movies -- because I was so helped by her story that I felt honor-bound to watch the movies. I wasn't surprised to see Kristen Stewart in the line-up. Her looks were and are a dead ringer to Bella. Robert Pattinson is NOT a comfortable match for Edward, but, as I was not consulted, whatever. I loved Shark Boy as Jacob and I thought that the actor chosen to play Charlie was as perfect a match as could be found. Twilight, in short, sucked. Sorry Twi-rabid-fans, but the movie sucked butt. Why does Edward's character skittle up trees like a spider monkey??? Why couldn't they simply do the "forest of Endor" bit, like they did in Star Wars VI twenty years ago? I mean, he RUNS fast. There isn't anything remotely hinting at climbing trees with the finger-nails. Its not only ridiculous, and silly, but it does NOT translate well onto the big screen. I laughed my @ss off in the theatre watching those scenes (pissing off every tween within earshot). And what's with Edward's perpetual constipation??? I wouldn't think a purely liquid diet would wreek that kind of havoc on the digestive tract. But there he is, scene after painfully constricted scene, looking like he needs a pessary.
It was with deep chagrin that I purchased the New Moon movie. I didn't go see it at the theatre. I would have preferred to see it at the theatre, but I just never found the time. So, I LOVED LOVED LOVED Taylor Lautner. Shark boy did good. He is gorgeous and my oh my has he grown into one impeccable specimen. Holy Shit Batman, that boy is beautiful. Of course, at my middle-age, I feel like a pedophile. Perhaps this is what Hugh Hefner feels like. But, I digress.
Edward still seemed (though we see less of him) constipated. Kristen Stewart IS NOT a good match for Bella, she brings a pissy quality to the character that wasn't needed or wanted. I end up wanting to smack her. The phasing scenes were awesome, and I was seriously worried here because of the misstep of the "skittling up the trees" bit from the first flick. Still, there were significant pieces that were,...silly. But, it was better than the first. Hopefully, but the next movie, these actors will settle into the characters more, and stop trying to put their personal spin on it. The characters were well written and fully developed on their own. So, its been a bit tough watching Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson playing basically themselves with undertones of the characters. If you've seen Speak, with Kristen Stewart, than you've seen her portrayal of Bella. If you've seen Robert in ANYTHING since Harry Potter IV, then you've seen him portray his version of Edward. This is why avid book readers go ballistic when their passion comes to life on the silver screen: an actor, suffering from a self-aggrandizing ego who sees a new spin for the character. It isn't just about adding things that are unnecessary, or removing pivotal plot points; its about telling the tale of the characters. This requires that the character be portrayed as written. Sure, take artistic license and change up the look a LITTLE. Or maybe, the dialog needs to be altered here or there. But to change the essence of the character, well, that changes how that character would respond, react. And that makes the story get choppy and disjointed. It stops making sense. The cohesiveness is broken and you can't just shove the broken bits together to make the movie. That's why it feels like most of Twilight got left on the editing room floor. New Moon has the same dilemma, although not as bad.
I hope that Eclipse and Breaking Dawn are better. Even if they are not, I will still go see the movies, and watch the actors try to breathe life into the characters; my friends who walked me through a dark spot in my life, and helped me see the sunshine again.
EP STORY The Language Barrier
I Think Men and Women Are Different
23 February 2010
I've noticed a difference between women and men in the way they have respond to events in other people's lives. On the topic of divorce, I hate to admit it but, it is divided right down the sex. The women, while sympathetic, steer clear of the divorcing woman like she has a disease and they're afraid she's contagious. The men, instinctively recognizing the vulnerability, while acknowledging the weaknesses of their "buddy", are VERY supportive and willing to help with the things they THINK he was doing. Overtly, they mean mowing my lawn, fixing the drywall in the laundryroom, working on her car. Subtly, I think they are willing to offer a bit more help and secretly hoping that some of the stories in Penthouse Forum are actually true. When you get right down to it, when they hear, "Husband likes younger girls, we're getting a divorce," the women hear, "you could be next;" while the men hear, "YOU could be next......" Ok, so its the same words, but the meaning is so very different.
For those of you, still married, happily or otherwise, you have to start out knowing you speak different languages. And, I don't mean the trite, "mars and venus" crap. We read those books too, and it really didn't help US communicate with EACH OTHER. We could figure out what was wrong, but not how to fix it. If you want to keep things working, you have to move to that next step. Ok, so there IS a language barrier, now move to the next step and try to reach across the chasm and understand each other. If your partner misunderstood you, then you failed to clearly express yourself. YOU have to ensure they understand on THEIR end what you truly mean. In a communication skills workshop I attended, the moderator said this: the responsibility in any disagreement rests with the one who is bugged by the event. That means that if your partner pisses you off, the responsibility to initiate the discussion is YOU because the issue lies with YOU. You can't expect your partner to know all the instances where he or she pissed you off, nor are they responsible to correct those events without your involvement. I bring this up because of the number of times that I've heard this phrase from one of my friends: he should know that I'm upset. Um, no, he shouldn't. Unless he's clairvoyant.
Men have "wants," Women have "feelings." Men WANT to feel basically one thing,...orgasm. Other than that, I'm sure they want to feel wanted, loved, appreciated. But, correct me if I'm wrong guys, men would take sex over their "feelings" any day, every day. Obviously not to be treated like scum, cause I've seen that too. But I'm talking generalities here. Women, want to FEEL. Here is a quick list of the things women want to feel, and they are NOT in order, or preference or indicative of anything else: loved, cherished, worshipped, appreciated, needed, supported, sexy, feminine, strong, romantic, intelligent, vibrant, essential, modern, classic, did I say "sexy" yet? ...and they'd REALLY, REALLY, REALLY like to feel orgasms at least as often as their mates do. But you have this language thing, getting in the way. A woman can be set upon making love to a man, and all he has to do to screw it all up is talk.
My best friend says this little snippet all the time. She says, women hear more than just the words. So when a man says, "I don't know what you like" the woman hears, "I don't know you." And, by that she hears, "I don't LOVE you." So you can imagine his confusion when all he WANTS is to know what she wants to eat for dinner, and she bursts out in tears lamenting, "you don't love me." Men want you to tell them, and they want you to say it in a way that does not demean them or imply that they are stupid. Men are not stupid, but they do not take leaps of logic. All he really wants is to enjoy a meal with you, that you enjoy, and his tastes are varied so he's amenable to letting you pick out what you'd like to eat. But, at the same time, he can say things that sound so heartless and shallow, and he means nothing by it. It hasn't occured to him what you might infer (however correctly) from the sometimes thoughtless things he says. And, women take HUGE leaps of logic, sometimes to their peril. But, no one will read you and know you, between the lines and between the sheets quite like a woman who CAN take giant leaps in logic. A woman that can pull together seemingly unrelated bits of data is both exciting and surprisingly intuitive, and annoying and frustrating.
If we take a minute, to ensure that the message gets across, however which way it must go, maybe we can start communicating and moving on to step two, UNDERSTANDING. Wouldn't it be great?
23 February 2010
I've noticed a difference between women and men in the way they have respond to events in other people's lives. On the topic of divorce, I hate to admit it but, it is divided right down the sex. The women, while sympathetic, steer clear of the divorcing woman like she has a disease and they're afraid she's contagious. The men, instinctively recognizing the vulnerability, while acknowledging the weaknesses of their "buddy", are VERY supportive and willing to help with the things they THINK he was doing. Overtly, they mean mowing my lawn, fixing the drywall in the laundryroom, working on her car. Subtly, I think they are willing to offer a bit more help and secretly hoping that some of the stories in Penthouse Forum are actually true. When you get right down to it, when they hear, "Husband likes younger girls, we're getting a divorce," the women hear, "you could be next;" while the men hear, "YOU could be next......" Ok, so its the same words, but the meaning is so very different.
For those of you, still married, happily or otherwise, you have to start out knowing you speak different languages. And, I don't mean the trite, "mars and venus" crap. We read those books too, and it really didn't help US communicate with EACH OTHER. We could figure out what was wrong, but not how to fix it. If you want to keep things working, you have to move to that next step. Ok, so there IS a language barrier, now move to the next step and try to reach across the chasm and understand each other. If your partner misunderstood you, then you failed to clearly express yourself. YOU have to ensure they understand on THEIR end what you truly mean. In a communication skills workshop I attended, the moderator said this: the responsibility in any disagreement rests with the one who is bugged by the event. That means that if your partner pisses you off, the responsibility to initiate the discussion is YOU because the issue lies with YOU. You can't expect your partner to know all the instances where he or she pissed you off, nor are they responsible to correct those events without your involvement. I bring this up because of the number of times that I've heard this phrase from one of my friends: he should know that I'm upset. Um, no, he shouldn't. Unless he's clairvoyant.
Men have "wants," Women have "feelings." Men WANT to feel basically one thing,...orgasm. Other than that, I'm sure they want to feel wanted, loved, appreciated. But, correct me if I'm wrong guys, men would take sex over their "feelings" any day, every day. Obviously not to be treated like scum, cause I've seen that too. But I'm talking generalities here. Women, want to FEEL. Here is a quick list of the things women want to feel, and they are NOT in order, or preference or indicative of anything else: loved, cherished, worshipped, appreciated, needed, supported, sexy, feminine, strong, romantic, intelligent, vibrant, essential, modern, classic, did I say "sexy" yet? ...and they'd REALLY, REALLY, REALLY like to feel orgasms at least as often as their mates do. But you have this language thing, getting in the way. A woman can be set upon making love to a man, and all he has to do to screw it all up is talk.
My best friend says this little snippet all the time. She says, women hear more than just the words. So when a man says, "I don't know what you like" the woman hears, "I don't know you." And, by that she hears, "I don't LOVE you." So you can imagine his confusion when all he WANTS is to know what she wants to eat for dinner, and she bursts out in tears lamenting, "you don't love me." Men want you to tell them, and they want you to say it in a way that does not demean them or imply that they are stupid. Men are not stupid, but they do not take leaps of logic. All he really wants is to enjoy a meal with you, that you enjoy, and his tastes are varied so he's amenable to letting you pick out what you'd like to eat. But, at the same time, he can say things that sound so heartless and shallow, and he means nothing by it. It hasn't occured to him what you might infer (however correctly) from the sometimes thoughtless things he says. And, women take HUGE leaps of logic, sometimes to their peril. But, no one will read you and know you, between the lines and between the sheets quite like a woman who CAN take giant leaps in logic. A woman that can pull together seemingly unrelated bits of data is both exciting and surprisingly intuitive, and annoying and frustrating.
If we take a minute, to ensure that the message gets across, however which way it must go, maybe we can start communicating and moving on to step two, UNDERSTANDING. Wouldn't it be great?
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Taking A Break
I'm so tired of transferring my data from Experience Project to here!!! OMG, what a project. And, I haven't even begun working on my stories!! Holy crap batman!!! AND, there are fifty stories and posts I need to weed through. Didn't think I had that much to bitch about!!!
As time goes on, and I have to deal with the day to day backblast from those taht do read this new blog; I wonder, why am I doing this? While I love blogging, and really letting loose and just speaking my mind; it was said to me, by one of my many 'judged' that no one can speak their mind without facing repercussions. Why is that? Shouldn't people be able to speak their mind, and not have eight hundred hungry hippos ready to snap off their appendages???
Here's an open invitation to you, the reader: speak your mind. Make comments in my blog, even about shit that isn't related to the posting. Speak your mind. Let it all go. Just say whatever the hell comes to mind. I won't judge you. Freedom of speech is inalienable. So, speak. The asshats of the world can do their bullshit dance. Well, fuck them. Life is too fucking short. I've always fallen short of the mark in their eyes. May as well go down fighting.
Favorite quote from a movie, ever!!! "Its better to burn out than fade away."
As time goes on, and I have to deal with the day to day backblast from those taht do read this new blog; I wonder, why am I doing this? While I love blogging, and really letting loose and just speaking my mind; it was said to me, by one of my many 'judged' that no one can speak their mind without facing repercussions. Why is that? Shouldn't people be able to speak their mind, and not have eight hundred hungry hippos ready to snap off their appendages???
Here's an open invitation to you, the reader: speak your mind. Make comments in my blog, even about shit that isn't related to the posting. Speak your mind. Let it all go. Just say whatever the hell comes to mind. I won't judge you. Freedom of speech is inalienable. So, speak. The asshats of the world can do their bullshit dance. Well, fuck them. Life is too fucking short. I've always fallen short of the mark in their eyes. May as well go down fighting.
Favorite quote from a movie, ever!!! "Its better to burn out than fade away."
Experience Project 19
I'm Like Michael Jordan
13 July 2010
I've said it before, a few times. But now, I have decided that there really isn't any choice left. You all might know that certain individuals I would prefer NOT read my shit, have and do. And, I get to hear about it IRL. It sucks ass. You know? Instead of being my private domain, where I can just let go and be the real, pissed off me inside; its now a source of material to have thrown in my face everytime an argument breaks out. It's such a total load of crap too. And yet, so fucking sick of the bullshit and the bitching. BBBLLLEEEECCCCHHHHHH!!!
Screw it all, I'm taking my ball and I'm going home. Seriously, I am leaving EP and gonna build a new profile elsewhere. I think every one deserves to have that anonymous place to vent their thoughts and their frustrations without the bullshit repercussions from people who don't recognize what the term 'personal space' is. Everyone deserves that space to just be open and let all their giggly bits hang free; without being judged. And you know what? Those fucking narfbag asshats who pry into your personal space are really just saying this: "I don't respect you, I don't respect your mind, I don't respect your feelings, I don't respect your privacy and I DON'T RESPECT YOUR HUMANITY."
Yes, you might be thinking that, if someone in my real life is able to read my stuff here, then they are going to read this. YES, they ARE. IRL, I have said how upset I am. I have said how violated I felt. I have said the things I ought to have said. But I said those things in my "me" voice. The people in my life know me as a god-damned door mat. I have been a door mat most of my life. The reason people in my 'real life' are prying into my shit, is because suddenly (not suddenly to me, only to them), I am behaving differently than before. Yes, dear friends, ANGRYFACE has grown a back-bone. And because of all of you, awesome people, I'm learning that I can say whatever the fuck I want. I have every right to feel and think as I do. And the people in my life who aren't comfortable with the REAL me, really only ever wanted a doormat. Well, they can find a door mat ANYWHERE. I don't have to sign up for that gig anymore. I don't have to bend over and take the pole with no lube. I can face you or anyone else, flip the double bird and say "Go Fuck Yourself" with a big-ass smile on my face.
Still, I am leaving EP. Just so you know, this IS the best social networking site on the web. It is. But, some of these people in my life, they don't care about what I need, or what fulfillment I get out of being here. They only care about their self, and how they might appear, however unnamed and unknown, to my circle. I wanted this site so I could express things I didn't want to share with these people. Because they judge me, they find me lacking and short-of-the-mark. Because they find fault with me. Because they compare me to others and I end up last, or less. Because they don't know me. Because they don't want to know me. I am sad to go, but, you can all still read about my angry bitching pathos on my blog at blogspot. I'm not sure how you find me, exactly, except to say that my blog is here
http://angryface1970.blogspot.com
For my circle, kids, you guys are awesome. I will contact you separately and let you know where I'm headed. You guys have been the best. The truth will set you free. ANGRYFACE
13 July 2010
I've said it before, a few times. But now, I have decided that there really isn't any choice left. You all might know that certain individuals I would prefer NOT read my shit, have and do. And, I get to hear about it IRL. It sucks ass. You know? Instead of being my private domain, where I can just let go and be the real, pissed off me inside; its now a source of material to have thrown in my face everytime an argument breaks out. It's such a total load of crap too. And yet, so fucking sick of the bullshit and the bitching. BBBLLLEEEECCCCHHHHHH!!!
Screw it all, I'm taking my ball and I'm going home. Seriously, I am leaving EP and gonna build a new profile elsewhere. I think every one deserves to have that anonymous place to vent their thoughts and their frustrations without the bullshit repercussions from people who don't recognize what the term 'personal space' is. Everyone deserves that space to just be open and let all their giggly bits hang free; without being judged. And you know what? Those fucking narfbag asshats who pry into your personal space are really just saying this: "I don't respect you, I don't respect your mind, I don't respect your feelings, I don't respect your privacy and I DON'T RESPECT YOUR HUMANITY."
Yes, you might be thinking that, if someone in my real life is able to read my stuff here, then they are going to read this. YES, they ARE. IRL, I have said how upset I am. I have said how violated I felt. I have said the things I ought to have said. But I said those things in my "me" voice. The people in my life know me as a god-damned door mat. I have been a door mat most of my life. The reason people in my 'real life' are prying into my shit, is because suddenly (not suddenly to me, only to them), I am behaving differently than before. Yes, dear friends, ANGRYFACE has grown a back-bone. And because of all of you, awesome people, I'm learning that I can say whatever the fuck I want. I have every right to feel and think as I do. And the people in my life who aren't comfortable with the REAL me, really only ever wanted a doormat. Well, they can find a door mat ANYWHERE. I don't have to sign up for that gig anymore. I don't have to bend over and take the pole with no lube. I can face you or anyone else, flip the double bird and say "Go Fuck Yourself" with a big-ass smile on my face.
Still, I am leaving EP. Just so you know, this IS the best social networking site on the web. It is. But, some of these people in my life, they don't care about what I need, or what fulfillment I get out of being here. They only care about their self, and how they might appear, however unnamed and unknown, to my circle. I wanted this site so I could express things I didn't want to share with these people. Because they judge me, they find me lacking and short-of-the-mark. Because they find fault with me. Because they compare me to others and I end up last, or less. Because they don't know me. Because they don't want to know me. I am sad to go, but, you can all still read about my angry bitching pathos on my blog at blogspot. I'm not sure how you find me, exactly, except to say that my blog is here
http://angryface1970.blogspot.com
For my circle, kids, you guys are awesome. I will contact you separately and let you know where I'm headed. You guys have been the best. The truth will set you free. ANGRYFACE
Experience Project 18
I'm An Asshat
7 July 2010
Ok, so sometimes my anger backfires. Sometimes, the reason I stand alone is because I've pushed everyone away. It's amazing to me that several months later, I have ANYONE in my circle at all. Of course, NOW, because of my rapid fire mouth and stunning reparte, my circle just got smaller. All I can say is this: if you think I'm ever going to be perfect, you're sadly looking to the wrong chicadee. I am NOT perfect and am never going to be perfect. Sometimes, I shoot of my mouth in the worst possible way. I am sorry to my dear friend that I verbally assaulted out of anger and misunderstanding. And yet, if you don't want to be in my circle, I get it. I'm a bit much to deal with, temper and such aside. However, we all come here as less than perfect people and I try to be understanding and accepting. Just hope that you can do the same.
One thing I have always been proud of, about myself, is my ability to recognize that I've been wrong and to apologize. I do make mistakes and try to be open about it, try to account for my bad behavior and correct it. Still, sometimes you can't wallow any more in your own mistakes, you have to move on, grow and move on. And, the people that you've hurt, well, they need to move on as well. People have hurt me before and it sucks. But I too had to forgive them and move on--even if only for myself to move on.
And in the midst of all the chaos, having pissed off a friend, and feeling like I can't get anything right, I have to be thankful for at least one thing: I didn't break anything this time!
7 July 2010
Ok, so sometimes my anger backfires. Sometimes, the reason I stand alone is because I've pushed everyone away. It's amazing to me that several months later, I have ANYONE in my circle at all. Of course, NOW, because of my rapid fire mouth and stunning reparte, my circle just got smaller. All I can say is this: if you think I'm ever going to be perfect, you're sadly looking to the wrong chicadee. I am NOT perfect and am never going to be perfect. Sometimes, I shoot of my mouth in the worst possible way. I am sorry to my dear friend that I verbally assaulted out of anger and misunderstanding. And yet, if you don't want to be in my circle, I get it. I'm a bit much to deal with, temper and such aside. However, we all come here as less than perfect people and I try to be understanding and accepting. Just hope that you can do the same.
One thing I have always been proud of, about myself, is my ability to recognize that I've been wrong and to apologize. I do make mistakes and try to be open about it, try to account for my bad behavior and correct it. Still, sometimes you can't wallow any more in your own mistakes, you have to move on, grow and move on. And, the people that you've hurt, well, they need to move on as well. People have hurt me before and it sucks. But I too had to forgive them and move on--even if only for myself to move on.
And in the midst of all the chaos, having pissed off a friend, and feeling like I can't get anything right, I have to be thankful for at least one thing: I didn't break anything this time!
Experience Project 17
Anger Management
7 July 2010
It has been brought to my attention that I have some anger issues. Well, to that I will say, "you have no fucking idea!!!" Anger Management was once called "Behavioral Modification Therapy." Go ahead, ask me how I know that...
I'm certain it is funny as hell to see a five foot tall, petite framed woman go all ape-shit. Although, some have told me that I'm absolutely frightening. I have, in the past, been known to throw things (have owned about a hundred phones), hit the heavy bag with bare knuckles and split the skin, have threatened more than a few would-be paramours to my sister within an inch of their lives, have scrapped a time or two (well, more than that actually), and more than a few doors have met their demise as I passed through. What can I say? The energy has to go somewhere, better OUT than IN.
During heated arguments, I have often had to express my temper, and have been told that I look insane and out of control. Ironically, it's those moments when I am executing exacting control. Temper is a really funny aspect of humanity. If you've ever seen the movie, "Anger Management" Jack Nicholson's character talks about explosive temper and implosive temper. Most of my childhood I had implosive temper. And, in my adult life, as an eternal "nice girl" I deal with that same implosion. Things truly anger me, frustrate me, and I must keep all those negative feelings at bay. In my personal life, I've learned to let that anger have voice and freedom, a bit. So, to those people, they'll see me throw things, punch the heavy bag, skip rope at mach speed: explosive expression of anger. The thing is, if you have NOT spent time in anger management therapy, you would have no clue that this sort of expression is actually healthy.
Let me elaborate a bit. First of all, if you think you've never felt the same kind of wrath that could prompt a person to punch a heavy bag bare-knuckled as hard as they possibly could, then I would call you a liar. Anger is anger, and everyone feels it. If you don't recognize when you're angry, or how angry you are, then you might be one of those implosive people, just waiting for the catalyst that sends you atop the bell tower. All humans feel anger, and just because someone is genteel and congenial, doesn't mean they are in control of their temper. In fact, if you have close contacts whom you have NEVER seen angry, be afraid, be very afraid.
During my time with anger management, I've learned that it is critical to let the energy out. Since I have kids, and a lot of them, I can't just tear up the place like a polar bear. I can not hit people, or scream or look psychotic. That's where the heavy bag, jump rope and the incredibly loud music come in. Those outlets let the majority of the rage out, without me doing damage elsewhere. And, through my blog and my stories, I'm able to let the rage that I experience in my professional life go. It may LOOK insane and out of control, but the exact opposite is true. I am doing exactly what I've trained myself to do, so that I never do the things I did when I was younger.
For example, once, when I was in musical theater, I had a director who was a real asshat. He threw a script at me, once, and the plastic cover sliced open my ankle, about a three inch long slice. I don't really remember anything after looking down at my ankle and seeing the blood pooling. What happened, as revealed to me later on, was that I jumped off the stage and proceeded to chase this incredibly fat man for two blocks until he fell down with a heart attack. I pounced on him and proceeded to ground-and-pound him until the police pulled my thrashing body off of him. I was "detained" and didn't really come back to normal until after I was in a holding cell. In the end, he dropped charges because I was a minor and he had assaulted me first, which was a felony while mine was only a misdemeanor as I didn't know he was having a heart attack. I didn't snap like that just because he cut my ankle. It had been years of dealing with this man, and watching him do shady things: stealing money from the drama department; groping the other girls; giving parts to the sexy girls who couldn't sing, dance or act; yelling and screaming; constantly changing choreography and acting like we were the screwups; calling people shitty names; calling ME 'shortshit'; and a whole host of other things that slowly ate away at my sanity. Yes, I snapped. But it wasn't like there wasn't a reason.
Another event happened when I was about 16. My sister was out on a date, and I was asked to go check up on her. I headed to the pier where they were and stood some distance away. I wanted to make sure they couldn't see me, cause I knew how embarrassing it would be. So, I watched for a bit, things seemed normal, so I started walking back to my car. My sis is older than me by about 2 years. As I neared the end of the pier, I heard her scream. I ran back toward them and he had the strap to her purse wrapped around her arms and she was bent over the bench they had been sitting on. I ran faster than I should have been able to run, but in the flight, I blacked out. What happened next was this,.. apparently, as I approached, I punched him, kicked his shocked ass sideways, and then dragged him to the edge of the pier, hoisted him up and tossed him off the pier into the water. Then I got arrested. It's funny now. Because I stopped him from getting what he wanted. But, he was over 18 and my sis was not. So, he also dropped the charges but I was given another round of BMT, also known as Anger Management.
In the end, I have been through anger management about six times now. Eventually, the material does seep into even the thickest of skulls. So when I rant and rave and look like a lunatic, be calm and peaceful, because you are in NO danger. I'm actually really good at letting go of the anger, without permanently damaging anything, or anyone. Well, NOW I am. People who live with volatile temper aren't necessarily out of control, or psychotic. And people who are always calm and peaceful and never express negative feelings are not necessarily healthy, calm or sane at all. Anger is nothing more than your body and soul telling your mind that something is truly fucked up and must be addressed immediately. People who ignore or repress that, are at some point in the future, going to express all of it in one final moment of stupidity. I'm just spreading my stupidity out.......
7 July 2010
It has been brought to my attention that I have some anger issues. Well, to that I will say, "you have no fucking idea!!!" Anger Management was once called "Behavioral Modification Therapy." Go ahead, ask me how I know that...
I'm certain it is funny as hell to see a five foot tall, petite framed woman go all ape-shit. Although, some have told me that I'm absolutely frightening. I have, in the past, been known to throw things (have owned about a hundred phones), hit the heavy bag with bare knuckles and split the skin, have threatened more than a few would-be paramours to my sister within an inch of their lives, have scrapped a time or two (well, more than that actually), and more than a few doors have met their demise as I passed through. What can I say? The energy has to go somewhere, better OUT than IN.
During heated arguments, I have often had to express my temper, and have been told that I look insane and out of control. Ironically, it's those moments when I am executing exacting control. Temper is a really funny aspect of humanity. If you've ever seen the movie, "Anger Management" Jack Nicholson's character talks about explosive temper and implosive temper. Most of my childhood I had implosive temper. And, in my adult life, as an eternal "nice girl" I deal with that same implosion. Things truly anger me, frustrate me, and I must keep all those negative feelings at bay. In my personal life, I've learned to let that anger have voice and freedom, a bit. So, to those people, they'll see me throw things, punch the heavy bag, skip rope at mach speed: explosive expression of anger. The thing is, if you have NOT spent time in anger management therapy, you would have no clue that this sort of expression is actually healthy.
Let me elaborate a bit. First of all, if you think you've never felt the same kind of wrath that could prompt a person to punch a heavy bag bare-knuckled as hard as they possibly could, then I would call you a liar. Anger is anger, and everyone feels it. If you don't recognize when you're angry, or how angry you are, then you might be one of those implosive people, just waiting for the catalyst that sends you atop the bell tower. All humans feel anger, and just because someone is genteel and congenial, doesn't mean they are in control of their temper. In fact, if you have close contacts whom you have NEVER seen angry, be afraid, be very afraid.
During my time with anger management, I've learned that it is critical to let the energy out. Since I have kids, and a lot of them, I can't just tear up the place like a polar bear. I can not hit people, or scream or look psychotic. That's where the heavy bag, jump rope and the incredibly loud music come in. Those outlets let the majority of the rage out, without me doing damage elsewhere. And, through my blog and my stories, I'm able to let the rage that I experience in my professional life go. It may LOOK insane and out of control, but the exact opposite is true. I am doing exactly what I've trained myself to do, so that I never do the things I did when I was younger.
For example, once, when I was in musical theater, I had a director who was a real asshat. He threw a script at me, once, and the plastic cover sliced open my ankle, about a three inch long slice. I don't really remember anything after looking down at my ankle and seeing the blood pooling. What happened, as revealed to me later on, was that I jumped off the stage and proceeded to chase this incredibly fat man for two blocks until he fell down with a heart attack. I pounced on him and proceeded to ground-and-pound him until the police pulled my thrashing body off of him. I was "detained" and didn't really come back to normal until after I was in a holding cell. In the end, he dropped charges because I was a minor and he had assaulted me first, which was a felony while mine was only a misdemeanor as I didn't know he was having a heart attack. I didn't snap like that just because he cut my ankle. It had been years of dealing with this man, and watching him do shady things: stealing money from the drama department; groping the other girls; giving parts to the sexy girls who couldn't sing, dance or act; yelling and screaming; constantly changing choreography and acting like we were the screwups; calling people shitty names; calling ME 'shortshit'; and a whole host of other things that slowly ate away at my sanity. Yes, I snapped. But it wasn't like there wasn't a reason.
Another event happened when I was about 16. My sister was out on a date, and I was asked to go check up on her. I headed to the pier where they were and stood some distance away. I wanted to make sure they couldn't see me, cause I knew how embarrassing it would be. So, I watched for a bit, things seemed normal, so I started walking back to my car. My sis is older than me by about 2 years. As I neared the end of the pier, I heard her scream. I ran back toward them and he had the strap to her purse wrapped around her arms and she was bent over the bench they had been sitting on. I ran faster than I should have been able to run, but in the flight, I blacked out. What happened next was this,.. apparently, as I approached, I punched him, kicked his shocked ass sideways, and then dragged him to the edge of the pier, hoisted him up and tossed him off the pier into the water. Then I got arrested. It's funny now. Because I stopped him from getting what he wanted. But, he was over 18 and my sis was not. So, he also dropped the charges but I was given another round of BMT, also known as Anger Management.
In the end, I have been through anger management about six times now. Eventually, the material does seep into even the thickest of skulls. So when I rant and rave and look like a lunatic, be calm and peaceful, because you are in NO danger. I'm actually really good at letting go of the anger, without permanently damaging anything, or anyone. Well, NOW I am. People who live with volatile temper aren't necessarily out of control, or psychotic. And people who are always calm and peaceful and never express negative feelings are not necessarily healthy, calm or sane at all. Anger is nothing more than your body and soul telling your mind that something is truly fucked up and must be addressed immediately. People who ignore or repress that, are at some point in the future, going to express all of it in one final moment of stupidity. I'm just spreading my stupidity out.......
Experience Project 16
Gouging My F_CKING Eyeballs Out
5 July 2010
Have you ever looked at something, and wished to God that you hadn't??? Have you ever been curious, only to be rewarded in the worst possible way??? You know what, folks??? The saying is true,... where there's smoke, THERE'S A FUCKING FIRE!!!!!
Don't poke the sleeping dragons. I'm not talking about the ones out there,.... no, no, no, no, no. I'm talking about the sleeping dragons that live inside your mind. I've got a few of them. And, tonight, whilst bored to tears at work, I poked one of them. I poked the green dragon. And the green dragon woke up, rose into the air, and breathed fire all over my scorched heart. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. Sorry to those of you who are sensitive to cursing,... probably, you shouldn't read MY blog. I can use the F-Bomb as a verb,noun, adverb, adjective, and a complete sentence. It's probably my favorite word. Right now,... I will use it as the expletive that it is: FFFFFUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKK! *screamed out loud, at the top of my lungs, over a cliff with an oceanic view at midnight to a flock of fucking seagulls*
Sometimes, I get on here at EP and I think, "wow, wonder what my friends are all doing?" I poke around and check it all out, read stories, comment here or there. Sometimes I wander to the Q&A, answer a few Q's. I don't generally stalk anyone, but, sometimes, I do. If you all loved me, you'd tell me to stop it. I mean, seriously!!! Maybe I SHOULD delete this account and just walk away. Cause then I wouldn't be tempted to check on people, and see everyone having a bare assed naked sexy time. I wouldn't read whistfully wishing I was invited to the party. I wouldn't feel like the second runner up to Kagan, who doesn't even look like a woman!!! Fuck me! Holy Crap Batman.
It's this God-damned "fuck-off" vibe I radiate. Sure, I make friends, but, beyond that??? Hell no. Someone close to me asked me a few days ago, if I got hit on all the time at bars. Well, no. I have never been one to get hit on. And, probably never will be. I AM that girl at the bar, making fun of you. I'm that girl at the bar wearing tight jeans and ass-kicking-military boots. I'm that girl at the bar making snide comments at the frilly, gussied up, make-up clones who are WAAAAAYYYY over-dancing and trying to be sexy in clothing that doesn't fit. Ok, I get it,.. apparently, I'm a bitch. Wish I wasn't, but clearly that's the case.
What am I supposed to do here? Start gesturing sexy remarks to the folks in my circle? Start sending sexy gifts around, listing myself as "private"..... (oooooo, wonder what the roses mean!!!???). My single friends ask me all the time to hit a bar with them. I always say no. For one thing, I need to be with my kids. For another thing, what's the point, really? I was gone for a bit, recently and had decided to stay here on EP cause I love the site. Still do. Just, wow,... holy rusted metal through my heart, Batman. This moment brought to you by pre-fortieth birthday panic attack and green dragon sightings. Angryface has left the building.
5 July 2010
Have you ever looked at something, and wished to God that you hadn't??? Have you ever been curious, only to be rewarded in the worst possible way??? You know what, folks??? The saying is true,... where there's smoke, THERE'S A FUCKING FIRE!!!!!
Don't poke the sleeping dragons. I'm not talking about the ones out there,.... no, no, no, no, no. I'm talking about the sleeping dragons that live inside your mind. I've got a few of them. And, tonight, whilst bored to tears at work, I poked one of them. I poked the green dragon. And the green dragon woke up, rose into the air, and breathed fire all over my scorched heart. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. Sorry to those of you who are sensitive to cursing,... probably, you shouldn't read MY blog. I can use the F-Bomb as a verb,noun, adverb, adjective, and a complete sentence. It's probably my favorite word. Right now,... I will use it as the expletive that it is: FFFFFUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKK! *screamed out loud, at the top of my lungs, over a cliff with an oceanic view at midnight to a flock of fucking seagulls*
Sometimes, I get on here at EP and I think, "wow, wonder what my friends are all doing?" I poke around and check it all out, read stories, comment here or there. Sometimes I wander to the Q&A, answer a few Q's. I don't generally stalk anyone, but, sometimes, I do. If you all loved me, you'd tell me to stop it. I mean, seriously!!! Maybe I SHOULD delete this account and just walk away. Cause then I wouldn't be tempted to check on people, and see everyone having a bare assed naked sexy time. I wouldn't read whistfully wishing I was invited to the party. I wouldn't feel like the second runner up to Kagan, who doesn't even look like a woman!!! Fuck me! Holy Crap Batman.
It's this God-damned "fuck-off" vibe I radiate. Sure, I make friends, but, beyond that??? Hell no. Someone close to me asked me a few days ago, if I got hit on all the time at bars. Well, no. I have never been one to get hit on. And, probably never will be. I AM that girl at the bar, making fun of you. I'm that girl at the bar wearing tight jeans and ass-kicking-military boots. I'm that girl at the bar making snide comments at the frilly, gussied up, make-up clones who are WAAAAAYYYY over-dancing and trying to be sexy in clothing that doesn't fit. Ok, I get it,.. apparently, I'm a bitch. Wish I wasn't, but clearly that's the case.
What am I supposed to do here? Start gesturing sexy remarks to the folks in my circle? Start sending sexy gifts around, listing myself as "private"..... (oooooo, wonder what the roses mean!!!???). My single friends ask me all the time to hit a bar with them. I always say no. For one thing, I need to be with my kids. For another thing, what's the point, really? I was gone for a bit, recently and had decided to stay here on EP cause I love the site. Still do. Just, wow,... holy rusted metal through my heart, Batman. This moment brought to you by pre-fortieth birthday panic attack and green dragon sightings. Angryface has left the building.
Experience Project 15
Always Makes Me Cry
4 July 2010
4 July 2010
Happy 4th of July to all my fellow Americans!!!
My entire life, I have always cried whenever I hear Taps, and especially during "Echo Taps" which is when two buglers play a measure off. Along with Taps, the Marine's Hymn gets me bawling as well. Though, when it's played at normal tempo, I get tears welling up. The one that tears out my heart is when they play it at quarter time... OMG,.. bring on the water works. There have been a few military based movies that have used this slower, much more painful rendition of the hymn at the closing credits. I usually have to turn it off before it gets there, cause I won't make it through without bawling like a little baby.
When I left for boot camp (eight thousand years ago) I was really scared I wouldn't graduate. Amazingly, I did graduate, though much later than I should have thanks to a raging bout of chicken pox!!! I remember hearing the Hymn during graduation ceremony. It was everything I could do to choke back the tears and not let my Drill Instructors see that I was crying. I just felt so fricken proud, not only that I'd made it, but also that I was joining the ranks of some unbelievable and incredibly honorable people.
Now, when I hear the Star Spangled Banner, I get verklempt as well. Just proud of our nation, despite the flaws. People are still flocking here, striving to land on American soil. And when I went to Ellis Island a few years back, and Statue of Liberty Island,.. teary eyed again. This truly is a great nation, filled with so many people and cultures. You can't hate America, because we are part and piece of the whole wide world. No matter what country or people or culture, we have a little bit of that here. And, most of us respect cultural differences!!! Most of us love the melting pot, and love the diversity. At least, I do. Probably why I am verklempt in the first place.
Experience Project 14
Lont Time Been Gone
4 July 2010
Have you ever needed a place to express yourself and found that such a place didn't exist? That's what this blog is for me,.. a private space to vent my frustrations, talk about things and just generally be 'myself'. I love EP. I love this space. I love that I can rant about any psychotic thing. Not many read my stuff, and even fewer comment. I can just, write whatever comes to mind and let the thoughts go freely.
What began as a place for self-exploration and expression has been used against me. You know, it really sucks, having your privacy violated and the sanctum sanctorium not so sanctum-like. I really need this space because in my real life, I'm miss Nice Girl. I don't say anything cross to anyone, never confront people. I always just walk away, and try really hard to get everyone to get along. It sucks ass. Seriously. Sometimes, I just want to yell, "YEAH!!! Well FUCK YYYYOOOOOUUUUUUU!!!!!" But I don't. I never do. I smile, angrily, and take it.
What happened was simple. If you know someone's username here, you can google the username and add 'experienceproject' to it and you'll end up on their profile. From there, you can read everything in their profile without even having an account. And, furthermore, you can read anything they've written on other whiteboards, stories, comments, etc. And that's what happened to me. My private venting chamber was exposed to the very people I was trying to avoid. Sometimes, you need the outlet. Everyone needs it. I read the stories in "I Live In A Sexless Marriage" and I know, I can't make anyone's life better. But it feels so awesome to reach out to someone else who is hurting and say, "yeah, I get you,..I understand." And in the "Married but lonely" group, I feel so connected to their pain. I want to reach out to them and say, "Hey,.. you aren't alone, there are millions of people who feel like you do, and we need to stand up together and feel less lonely."
I want to be able to complain about my life and not have some self-aggrandizing person throw my own feelings back in my face. I want to have my feelings validated. I want to BE validated. And yet, now I feel naked and exposed. Why? The point of EP is the opposite of stupid Facebook and MySpace. Its about being the real you, and having connections based on who you are without all the crap. We're supposed to be able to get naked here, and just let all out cellulite and funky bits hang out. We're supposed to be getting honest and discussing things we'd normally hide. And we're supposed to connect with people based on experiences, commonality and shared intellect. It's the exact opposite of those crappy social networking sites where you connect with people you already know and don't like. Or worse, your relatives. Or even still worse, having all your worlds smash together in a horrible kaleidoscope of family and friends cross-pollinating horrible stories about you to each other.
Here on EP, we don't have to deal with that. For all I know, the people I chat with, could be my next door neighbor. Or, the neighbor from my childhood. For all I know, I have relatives in my own fucking circle right now. The point is, we all get to shake it loose and speak freely, or, well, we're supposed to.
I've been gone for a while. And I've changed usernames. I was giving thought to deleting my profile altogether, since, my privacy has been violated and abused. My stories and comments have been ripped apart and criticized. What point was there in staying? While I've been writing this, it occured to me: I always do what other people want me to do. WTF!??!!??!?!! Why do *I* never get to just vent? Why do *I* always do the nice-girl thing, give everyone what they want? Not gonna happen. I already had my blog deleted once by a well-meaning friend. I've already deleted some stories, deleted some comments. Why? Not gonna happen. You want to get pissed off? You want to read my shit and get your knickers twisted? Fine by me. Guess what? This space IS my space. If you invade my privacy, and read my posts, you get what you get. My circle of friends and fans get me, they get "it" and they know I'm usually foul-mouthed, and typically say whatever comes to mind regardless of how inappropriate it might be. This anonymous space was meant to be my sanctum-sanctorium and those that I included inside my safe-haven are individuals I might never meet, might never know beyond these 'walls'. But they are here on MY invitation and because I get them too. I have made some awesome connections here and I'm not going to walk away. I truly appreciate and love my circle of friends. Though I don't know them irl, they are great people stripped away from their jobs, their identities, their shackles. We all are. We're different than that which we are perceived to be by others. We are rich, vibrant and free. We're reaching out, to each other, to ourselves.
We, here at EP, have every right to say all the things we hide inside, freely and openly to each other. If you're going to read my blog, answers, my stories or comments, you get what you get. I'm here, raw, and rough. I'm here, crude and saying whatever comes to mind. I'm expressing thoughts that are sometimes ugly, sometimes painful, and sometimes laced with venom. Sometimes, I embellish, wish I didn't but it's true. If you read my shit, you get what you get,.. and if you get angry, perhaps you shouldn't read my stuff.
4 July 2010
Have you ever needed a place to express yourself and found that such a place didn't exist? That's what this blog is for me,.. a private space to vent my frustrations, talk about things and just generally be 'myself'. I love EP. I love this space. I love that I can rant about any psychotic thing. Not many read my stuff, and even fewer comment. I can just, write whatever comes to mind and let the thoughts go freely.
What began as a place for self-exploration and expression has been used against me. You know, it really sucks, having your privacy violated and the sanctum sanctorium not so sanctum-like. I really need this space because in my real life, I'm miss Nice Girl. I don't say anything cross to anyone, never confront people. I always just walk away, and try really hard to get everyone to get along. It sucks ass. Seriously. Sometimes, I just want to yell, "YEAH!!! Well FUCK YYYYOOOOOUUUUUUU!!!!!" But I don't. I never do. I smile, angrily, and take it.
What happened was simple. If you know someone's username here, you can google the username and add 'experienceproject' to it and you'll end up on their profile. From there, you can read everything in their profile without even having an account. And, furthermore, you can read anything they've written on other whiteboards, stories, comments, etc. And that's what happened to me. My private venting chamber was exposed to the very people I was trying to avoid. Sometimes, you need the outlet. Everyone needs it. I read the stories in "I Live In A Sexless Marriage" and I know, I can't make anyone's life better. But it feels so awesome to reach out to someone else who is hurting and say, "yeah, I get you,..I understand." And in the "Married but lonely" group, I feel so connected to their pain. I want to reach out to them and say, "Hey,.. you aren't alone, there are millions of people who feel like you do, and we need to stand up together and feel less lonely."
I want to be able to complain about my life and not have some self-aggrandizing person throw my own feelings back in my face. I want to have my feelings validated. I want to BE validated. And yet, now I feel naked and exposed. Why? The point of EP is the opposite of stupid Facebook and MySpace. Its about being the real you, and having connections based on who you are without all the crap. We're supposed to be able to get naked here, and just let all out cellulite and funky bits hang out. We're supposed to be getting honest and discussing things we'd normally hide. And we're supposed to connect with people based on experiences, commonality and shared intellect. It's the exact opposite of those crappy social networking sites where you connect with people you already know and don't like. Or worse, your relatives. Or even still worse, having all your worlds smash together in a horrible kaleidoscope of family and friends cross-pollinating horrible stories about you to each other.
Here on EP, we don't have to deal with that. For all I know, the people I chat with, could be my next door neighbor. Or, the neighbor from my childhood. For all I know, I have relatives in my own fucking circle right now. The point is, we all get to shake it loose and speak freely, or, well, we're supposed to.
I've been gone for a while. And I've changed usernames. I was giving thought to deleting my profile altogether, since, my privacy has been violated and abused. My stories and comments have been ripped apart and criticized. What point was there in staying? While I've been writing this, it occured to me: I always do what other people want me to do. WTF!??!!??!?!! Why do *I* never get to just vent? Why do *I* always do the nice-girl thing, give everyone what they want? Not gonna happen. I already had my blog deleted once by a well-meaning friend. I've already deleted some stories, deleted some comments. Why? Not gonna happen. You want to get pissed off? You want to read my shit and get your knickers twisted? Fine by me. Guess what? This space IS my space. If you invade my privacy, and read my posts, you get what you get. My circle of friends and fans get me, they get "it" and they know I'm usually foul-mouthed, and typically say whatever comes to mind regardless of how inappropriate it might be. This anonymous space was meant to be my sanctum-sanctorium and those that I included inside my safe-haven are individuals I might never meet, might never know beyond these 'walls'. But they are here on MY invitation and because I get them too. I have made some awesome connections here and I'm not going to walk away. I truly appreciate and love my circle of friends. Though I don't know them irl, they are great people stripped away from their jobs, their identities, their shackles. We all are. We're different than that which we are perceived to be by others. We are rich, vibrant and free. We're reaching out, to each other, to ourselves.
We, here at EP, have every right to say all the things we hide inside, freely and openly to each other. If you're going to read my blog, answers, my stories or comments, you get what you get. I'm here, raw, and rough. I'm here, crude and saying whatever comes to mind. I'm expressing thoughts that are sometimes ugly, sometimes painful, and sometimes laced with venom. Sometimes, I embellish, wish I didn't but it's true. If you read my shit, you get what you get,.. and if you get angry, perhaps you shouldn't read my stuff.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Experience Project 13
Road Rage
23 June 2010
What is the deal with tiny women driving big ass vehicles??? What is the deal with MILFs driving their stupid vans like they're in Nascar??? What is the deal with that asshole who just cut me off and flipped me off at the same time??? I have road rage, but it isn't MY fault.
I've been driving since I was 14. Yes, driving since I was 14. Didn't say legally, just saying I was. My early driving days, yes, I was reckless and probably caused a lot of premature graying for a lot of happless strangers. But, nearly 26 years later,.. I am an awesome driver. I love driving. I actually use that clickety thingy that tells people around you that you plan on moving left or right. And, I have never wailed on the horn,... I just handle my vehicle so as to not crash into that jackass who just cut me off. I have the radio on, yes it's blaring, and I am in my groove. I love being behind the wheel.
Something that makes my nirvana a little less nirvana-like is the ass hats with whom I have to share the road. For instance, my gender doesn't make you right. And my nationality doesn't make me a bad driver. And the size and cost of your stupid car doesn't give you the right of way by default. How many overweight people buy Lexus SUVs??? Seems the demographic is larger than what the greater populace can support. And yet, it happens often that someone with a cheeseburger clamped in their fist; driving a Lexus or a Cadillac SUV has to swerve into my lane as if I'm not there. Here's a hint, if you are more focused on the burger than staying alive,...perhaps you should focus on the staying alive by eating INSIDE the restaurant.
How many men out there still think women are lesser beings? Honestly,.. you dinosaurs still breathing??? I can't tell you how many times I've heard some neanderthal scream out his window, "stupid bitch" at me, when they were in the wrong. I just want to rip him through his car window and beat him like the moron he is all the while singing, "I am woman hear me roar, in numbers to big to ignore!!!" Having a dangly bit doesn't necessarily mean you have an intuitive connection to cars. Some men couldn't manage to keep a car running without someone else's help. And I am the one that did all the work on our vehicles, except the stuff for which I needed special tools or had to lift something heavy. I know more about the sweet, delicious hum of a strong engine than most of my guy friends (which is sad). I don't drive by tachometer, I drive by feel, when I am able to drive a standard that is... Meanwhile, a guy I know burned the clutch out of one of his cars way back in the day. I remember staring at him asking, "what do you mean you've been resting your foot on the clutch while you drive???" Men are not by default the superior gender when it comes to cars. I know its the usual case, but not always, so before you scream some degrading expletive at me,.. consider that I actually have EOD experience.
Ah road rage... The impulse to drive my vehicle like Mad Max. So far, I've managed to keep the monster at bay. But, my language could use a little help. The Marine in me rears her foul-mouthed head when I'm on the road. I have been known to make grown men blush at the stream of creative adjectives flowing gracefully from my mouth!!! And I'm usually able to maneuver my vehicle around any obstacle or asshole as the case may dictate. Which begs the question, "why am I so fricken angry?" Dunno, but it would be nice if I had a giant version of Whack-A-Mole with little cars of people who have made me angry. And I can use my old Grand Caravan as the mallot, smashing them every time they pop up. It would be awesome, complete with crashing noises and shattering glass each time I made a connection. Probably my score would shoot through the roof. And I'm already pretty good at Whack-A-Mole. Of course, now, I just imagine those little moles as the MILFs I have to deal with...... whack whack whack whack whack whack whack whack whack whack whack whack..... *giggles like a maniac*
23 June 2010
What is the deal with tiny women driving big ass vehicles??? What is the deal with MILFs driving their stupid vans like they're in Nascar??? What is the deal with that asshole who just cut me off and flipped me off at the same time??? I have road rage, but it isn't MY fault.
I've been driving since I was 14. Yes, driving since I was 14. Didn't say legally, just saying I was. My early driving days, yes, I was reckless and probably caused a lot of premature graying for a lot of happless strangers. But, nearly 26 years later,.. I am an awesome driver. I love driving. I actually use that clickety thingy that tells people around you that you plan on moving left or right. And, I have never wailed on the horn,... I just handle my vehicle so as to not crash into that jackass who just cut me off. I have the radio on, yes it's blaring, and I am in my groove. I love being behind the wheel.
Something that makes my nirvana a little less nirvana-like is the ass hats with whom I have to share the road. For instance, my gender doesn't make you right. And my nationality doesn't make me a bad driver. And the size and cost of your stupid car doesn't give you the right of way by default. How many overweight people buy Lexus SUVs??? Seems the demographic is larger than what the greater populace can support. And yet, it happens often that someone with a cheeseburger clamped in their fist; driving a Lexus or a Cadillac SUV has to swerve into my lane as if I'm not there. Here's a hint, if you are more focused on the burger than staying alive,...perhaps you should focus on the staying alive by eating INSIDE the restaurant.
How many men out there still think women are lesser beings? Honestly,.. you dinosaurs still breathing??? I can't tell you how many times I've heard some neanderthal scream out his window, "stupid bitch" at me, when they were in the wrong. I just want to rip him through his car window and beat him like the moron he is all the while singing, "I am woman hear me roar, in numbers to big to ignore!!!" Having a dangly bit doesn't necessarily mean you have an intuitive connection to cars. Some men couldn't manage to keep a car running without someone else's help. And I am the one that did all the work on our vehicles, except the stuff for which I needed special tools or had to lift something heavy. I know more about the sweet, delicious hum of a strong engine than most of my guy friends (which is sad). I don't drive by tachometer, I drive by feel, when I am able to drive a standard that is... Meanwhile, a guy I know burned the clutch out of one of his cars way back in the day. I remember staring at him asking, "what do you mean you've been resting your foot on the clutch while you drive???" Men are not by default the superior gender when it comes to cars. I know its the usual case, but not always, so before you scream some degrading expletive at me,.. consider that I actually have EOD experience.
Ah road rage... The impulse to drive my vehicle like Mad Max. So far, I've managed to keep the monster at bay. But, my language could use a little help. The Marine in me rears her foul-mouthed head when I'm on the road. I have been known to make grown men blush at the stream of creative adjectives flowing gracefully from my mouth!!! And I'm usually able to maneuver my vehicle around any obstacle or asshole as the case may dictate. Which begs the question, "why am I so fricken angry?" Dunno, but it would be nice if I had a giant version of Whack-A-Mole with little cars of people who have made me angry. And I can use my old Grand Caravan as the mallot, smashing them every time they pop up. It would be awesome, complete with crashing noises and shattering glass each time I made a connection. Probably my score would shoot through the roof. And I'm already pretty good at Whack-A-Mole. Of course, now, I just imagine those little moles as the MILFs I have to deal with...... whack whack whack whack whack whack whack whack whack whack whack whack..... *giggles like a maniac*
Experience Project 12
Reflections From The Public Loo
19 June 2010
I was at the mall today (kill me, right,... now). I had to go pee, so I headed to the bathrooms in the food court. The food court bathrooms tend to get cleaned more often (this is true). Not that you need to know my bathroom habits, but I noticed something when I was there.
First of all; on a long row of stalls, most of which are open, why do people insist on utilizing the stall directly beside mine??? I don't want a public experience. I want a private experience. Why do people feel the need to gravitate to the stalls next to other people? Stay away,.. use the one down there.... I want to be in peace to do my thing.
Second; if you DO happen to go into the stall directly beside mine, you get what you deserve. I didn't come here for tea. I came here to do a myriad of things considered impolite in public. Don't get pissy because I pass gas. THAT'S WHY I WENT TO THE BATHROOM, MORON!!! Don't comment on any noises or apparent evacuation you might overhear. You could have gone to the stalls over there. But NOOOOOO, you went right here, next to me. Get over it.
Third; if you happen to be in the loo, and whilst washing your hands, notice you have bad breath left over from lunch, don't you dare (and I MEAN IT), don't you DARE go to those vending machines and buy ANYTHING. Reminder: you are in a public bathroom!!! You don't EAT anything in a public bathroom. I don't know what jackass decided that it was a good idea to try to tap out the change purse of women in the loo, but it was a bad, horrible, disgusting idea. That person, should be flogged with spaghetti in a public bathroom.
Fourth; and this one applies MORE to the fellas, but occassionally (ew) the girls. That cologne bar on the wall over there.... yeah, under NO circumstances are you to purchase a squirt of artificial, rubbing alcohol and formaldehyde laden pheromones!!! Even if you are a mechanic, and you just spent twelve hours beneath a car in the sweltering heat, believe me, you smell better than that shit. Even if you are a farmer, and you spent twelve hours watching cows go by,.. believe me, you smell better on your own. Here's a hint: shower first and use soap. Not AXE,... or any other uber-smelly crap. We women do not need you to bash us in the nose with multiple layers of AXE in a desperate attempt to drag us back to the cave. And if you ARE going to insist that you use the AXE products to lure the ladies,... for God's sake, PLEASE use the SAME scent for all three bits... shampoo/soap/deodorant. Please stop using a different scent for all three,.. I can't take the migraines any more. Seriously. And for the "ladies," if you think that bathroom perfume smells good, I would say that your olfactory senses have been assaulted with too much AXE. Ladies,.. your own natural scent smells so much better than bathroom perfume, I can't believe I even need to mention it.
Fifth; travelling in packs. I have never needed accompaniement to the loo. Yet, whenever I am there, I am assaulted with packs of younger women. Packs of them. Why do you travel to the loo in packs? Is there safety in numbers? Do the young men find it weird that you all stand at once and head to the loo like a flock of seagulls? I find it odd. I also find it odd that although I am eight hundred years old, you all find it necessary to assess my attire and accessories. I'm eight hundred, not in your league. I have no interest in chasing your prospective mates. In fact, the only chasing I plan on doing, is to chase that damned bartender down to get another drink. Your underaged whimsy holds no appeal for me.Getting back to the loo. Why are purveyors of public restrooms replacing the towels with the violent Xcellerators? You know what these are... They are the air blowers that mimic flight at mach ten over your hands. They are the ones that send the kiddos screaming that their faces were blown off. Sure, it's funny, and they actually blow fast enough to dry your hands (unlike those from my youth, that were more like old people with emphesema, blowing germs gently on your hands). However, where does the air come from inside those things? Yeah, from inside the room. Do you know what "aerosol" means? Well, the air in the loo ain't clean. So, using the inside air, means these things are blasting the germs from within the room at mach ten over my hands I just washed.Yes, I am that person that just dried their hands on the back of my pants, and opened the restroom door with my elbow. Public bathrooms have cooties. Ewwwwwwwww.
19 June 2010
I was at the mall today (kill me, right,... now). I had to go pee, so I headed to the bathrooms in the food court. The food court bathrooms tend to get cleaned more often (this is true). Not that you need to know my bathroom habits, but I noticed something when I was there.
First of all; on a long row of stalls, most of which are open, why do people insist on utilizing the stall directly beside mine??? I don't want a public experience. I want a private experience. Why do people feel the need to gravitate to the stalls next to other people? Stay away,.. use the one down there.... I want to be in peace to do my thing.
Second; if you DO happen to go into the stall directly beside mine, you get what you deserve. I didn't come here for tea. I came here to do a myriad of things considered impolite in public. Don't get pissy because I pass gas. THAT'S WHY I WENT TO THE BATHROOM, MORON!!! Don't comment on any noises or apparent evacuation you might overhear. You could have gone to the stalls over there. But NOOOOOO, you went right here, next to me. Get over it.
Third; if you happen to be in the loo, and whilst washing your hands, notice you have bad breath left over from lunch, don't you dare (and I MEAN IT), don't you DARE go to those vending machines and buy ANYTHING. Reminder: you are in a public bathroom!!! You don't EAT anything in a public bathroom. I don't know what jackass decided that it was a good idea to try to tap out the change purse of women in the loo, but it was a bad, horrible, disgusting idea. That person, should be flogged with spaghetti in a public bathroom.
Fourth; and this one applies MORE to the fellas, but occassionally (ew) the girls. That cologne bar on the wall over there.... yeah, under NO circumstances are you to purchase a squirt of artificial, rubbing alcohol and formaldehyde laden pheromones!!! Even if you are a mechanic, and you just spent twelve hours beneath a car in the sweltering heat, believe me, you smell better than that shit. Even if you are a farmer, and you spent twelve hours watching cows go by,.. believe me, you smell better on your own. Here's a hint: shower first and use soap. Not AXE,... or any other uber-smelly crap. We women do not need you to bash us in the nose with multiple layers of AXE in a desperate attempt to drag us back to the cave. And if you ARE going to insist that you use the AXE products to lure the ladies,... for God's sake, PLEASE use the SAME scent for all three bits... shampoo/soap/deodorant. Please stop using a different scent for all three,.. I can't take the migraines any more. Seriously. And for the "ladies," if you think that bathroom perfume smells good, I would say that your olfactory senses have been assaulted with too much AXE. Ladies,.. your own natural scent smells so much better than bathroom perfume, I can't believe I even need to mention it.
Fifth; travelling in packs. I have never needed accompaniement to the loo. Yet, whenever I am there, I am assaulted with packs of younger women. Packs of them. Why do you travel to the loo in packs? Is there safety in numbers? Do the young men find it weird that you all stand at once and head to the loo like a flock of seagulls? I find it odd. I also find it odd that although I am eight hundred years old, you all find it necessary to assess my attire and accessories. I'm eight hundred, not in your league. I have no interest in chasing your prospective mates. In fact, the only chasing I plan on doing, is to chase that damned bartender down to get another drink. Your underaged whimsy holds no appeal for me.Getting back to the loo. Why are purveyors of public restrooms replacing the towels with the violent Xcellerators? You know what these are... They are the air blowers that mimic flight at mach ten over your hands. They are the ones that send the kiddos screaming that their faces were blown off. Sure, it's funny, and they actually blow fast enough to dry your hands (unlike those from my youth, that were more like old people with emphesema, blowing germs gently on your hands). However, where does the air come from inside those things? Yeah, from inside the room. Do you know what "aerosol" means? Well, the air in the loo ain't clean. So, using the inside air, means these things are blasting the germs from within the room at mach ten over my hands I just washed.Yes, I am that person that just dried their hands on the back of my pants, and opened the restroom door with my elbow. Public bathrooms have cooties. Ewwwwwwwww.
Experience Project 11
R-E-S-P-E-C-T
18 June 2010
I had a few thoughts after reading the commentary from the Liddell-Franklin fight. Actually, since Franklin won, I suppose his name ought to have come first, but I'm a Liddell fan, so perhaps you'll allow me that. One of the comments made was that it was a good thing that Liddell lost to Franklin because Franklin is such a classy fighter, he would respect Liddell through it all and be a gentleman and an honorable fighter right to the end. And, Franklin absolutely has been. You'd think that such common decency and respect wouldn't be applauded so clearly. And yet, I can't help but feel even more respect and admiration for Franklin for being gracious and humble. While I liked Franklin before the fight, I respect him so much now, and would consider myself a fan. What a classy and upright gentleman. So many younger fighters would not have been. So many would have delighted in having ended Liddell's career. They would not have been happy having conquered a long-time champion. The would have gone in to cement the defeat with hubris and greed.
I think back to when Ortiz fought Shammrock for the third time. I couldn't believe that Shammrock wouldn't just step away. I could understand it,.. yeah, I've continued to hammer away at a dead deal myself from time to time. There's something basic and animal about fighting. And, I get it. It's basic human survival and cuts to the core of who we, as a species are. Fight to live, fight for food, fight for the best mates, fight to protect family, fight to maintain supremacy. We ARE fighters. With the shifting of the American gross national product away from actual goods, to services, we have forgotten that. I get it, why Shammrock WANTED to fight Ortiz again and again in the hopes he would emerge victorious. And yet, all three times he failed. Not to allow an aging defeated warrior his grace; each and every time, Ortiz pantomimed digging a grave for Shammrock's career. Classless and disrespectful. While it's great to be an Ortiz fan when he wins,.. one can't win every fight. It was only a matter of time before Ortiz lost a few of his own. And Shammrock could only watch from the sidelines.
When you recall the Ultimate Fighter season where Ortiz and Shammrock squared off with their teams, you'll remember then, what a tool Shammrock came off as. I was so shocked that such a great man would appear to be such a punk onscreen. I know a few people who fight in his camp, and the man literally sends out messages to every single fighter in his camp, of support and encouragement; greetings and well wishes during the holidays. This is a classy man who absolutely respects his fighters. So what happened? Cause Ortiz came off looking like the newly fallen snow. I can answer that: the fight that was supposed to be physical, went internal. It wasn't just about a fight card anymore. It was personal, it was mental and Shammrock was so focused on silencing his disrespectful opponent that he lost sight of the fact that he was on a television show. He just looked insane. He was insane. And Ortiz, like the consummate schoolyard bully, poked at the edges of sanity that Shammrock had fought to maintain. Not only did Ortiz have no respect for the man who brought the initial viewers to the sport, he didn't respect the sport itself. A fighter is a warrior, and held by a code, whether or not he wants to admit it. Yeah, it's a sport, something that's been around since there have been humans. The fight, is about testing the character, their intestinal fortitude, their strength, not only physical but also their heart. And to lose, is to have been found weaker.
This same thing happens every day in every business across our country. Though, the different strata aren't separated by age ranges. I can't tell you how many times I've heard, "this isn't personal." That's a load of crap, so don't buy it when you've been offered it. It absolutely is personal. People jockeying for position, vying for promotions, better pay, better benefits. All the while, jobs are cutting salaries and wages, decreasing benefits, and increasing the required duties of each job. And the employers seem to not realize the inequity there: they want more work, for less pay/benefits. You can't get something for nothing. Of course they realize the ridiculousness of their demands. But our economy has NOT recovered,.. just ask the scores of folks still struggling and scrambling to survive. So the employers are taking advantage of the job scarcity. I wouldn't mind that so much, if they weren't so damned rude about it. When you're getting laid off, with a family to support, having some jackass tell you it isn't personal is the same exact thing as if Tito himself were digging your grave for you, in your face. So, this shithead is laying you off, he won, you lost, and he has the base classlessness to dance in front of you and make believe that it wasn't personal. "Hey, buddy, Fuck You." Can't say that. No, cause the company could still hire you back at some point, and dammit, a job's a job, right?
That never happens in fighting. That's what I love so much about the sport. There's no lie, there's no pretend. It isn't a pantomime for real life, though many think much of the antics are staged. Maybe they are. But there is just something real and honest about a fight. Even a fight with rules. You're never going to see Ken Shammrock working up at Big Bear. But in the corporate world, it really comes down to "a job is a job." Wouldn't it level the playing field a lot more if you could grab your manager and challenge them? If you kicked their ass, you got promoted. If you didn't, then you got your ass kicked back down to your station with a bit more respect for your manager. It's direct: cause and effect. Very clear. Meaningful and everything makes sense. I think we'd all respect ourselves more, if we felt as if we had a hand in our own future: able to shape and alter course as we saw fit. Instead, we all seem to be living in Shammrock hell, unable to silence that disrespectful little shit who won't keep his mouth shut. We're all suffering with our personal Ortizes, having to listen to their ilk and their idiocy and have them calling us out in a verbal fist fight.
That brings me to the point. I'm not an Ortiz fan. I want to be. He's a sharp fighter, usually. He's got a great training philosophy. He's a fighter. I want to like the guy. I want to. But, he shows a marked lack of respect for his fellow man, his fellow fighters. He appears to be a man who doesn't respect others, and that's just not a man that I can respect. You want respect? Dignity? It starts with you. People will be people. But that doesn't mean you get preemptive and treat others dishonorably just to get them before they get you. No. You start out giving people an opportunity to earn your respect, and let the fight play out. Even the man whose arm is not raised deserves respect for standing up to the fight. As do we all. We all stand up for the fight, whether or not we will win. And there is respect in that, being willing to fight, even when the pre-fight stats say you won't.
18 June 2010
I had a few thoughts after reading the commentary from the Liddell-Franklin fight. Actually, since Franklin won, I suppose his name ought to have come first, but I'm a Liddell fan, so perhaps you'll allow me that. One of the comments made was that it was a good thing that Liddell lost to Franklin because Franklin is such a classy fighter, he would respect Liddell through it all and be a gentleman and an honorable fighter right to the end. And, Franklin absolutely has been. You'd think that such common decency and respect wouldn't be applauded so clearly. And yet, I can't help but feel even more respect and admiration for Franklin for being gracious and humble. While I liked Franklin before the fight, I respect him so much now, and would consider myself a fan. What a classy and upright gentleman. So many younger fighters would not have been. So many would have delighted in having ended Liddell's career. They would not have been happy having conquered a long-time champion. The would have gone in to cement the defeat with hubris and greed.
I think back to when Ortiz fought Shammrock for the third time. I couldn't believe that Shammrock wouldn't just step away. I could understand it,.. yeah, I've continued to hammer away at a dead deal myself from time to time. There's something basic and animal about fighting. And, I get it. It's basic human survival and cuts to the core of who we, as a species are. Fight to live, fight for food, fight for the best mates, fight to protect family, fight to maintain supremacy. We ARE fighters. With the shifting of the American gross national product away from actual goods, to services, we have forgotten that. I get it, why Shammrock WANTED to fight Ortiz again and again in the hopes he would emerge victorious. And yet, all three times he failed. Not to allow an aging defeated warrior his grace; each and every time, Ortiz pantomimed digging a grave for Shammrock's career. Classless and disrespectful. While it's great to be an Ortiz fan when he wins,.. one can't win every fight. It was only a matter of time before Ortiz lost a few of his own. And Shammrock could only watch from the sidelines.
When you recall the Ultimate Fighter season where Ortiz and Shammrock squared off with their teams, you'll remember then, what a tool Shammrock came off as. I was so shocked that such a great man would appear to be such a punk onscreen. I know a few people who fight in his camp, and the man literally sends out messages to every single fighter in his camp, of support and encouragement; greetings and well wishes during the holidays. This is a classy man who absolutely respects his fighters. So what happened? Cause Ortiz came off looking like the newly fallen snow. I can answer that: the fight that was supposed to be physical, went internal. It wasn't just about a fight card anymore. It was personal, it was mental and Shammrock was so focused on silencing his disrespectful opponent that he lost sight of the fact that he was on a television show. He just looked insane. He was insane. And Ortiz, like the consummate schoolyard bully, poked at the edges of sanity that Shammrock had fought to maintain. Not only did Ortiz have no respect for the man who brought the initial viewers to the sport, he didn't respect the sport itself. A fighter is a warrior, and held by a code, whether or not he wants to admit it. Yeah, it's a sport, something that's been around since there have been humans. The fight, is about testing the character, their intestinal fortitude, their strength, not only physical but also their heart. And to lose, is to have been found weaker.
This same thing happens every day in every business across our country. Though, the different strata aren't separated by age ranges. I can't tell you how many times I've heard, "this isn't personal." That's a load of crap, so don't buy it when you've been offered it. It absolutely is personal. People jockeying for position, vying for promotions, better pay, better benefits. All the while, jobs are cutting salaries and wages, decreasing benefits, and increasing the required duties of each job. And the employers seem to not realize the inequity there: they want more work, for less pay/benefits. You can't get something for nothing. Of course they realize the ridiculousness of their demands. But our economy has NOT recovered,.. just ask the scores of folks still struggling and scrambling to survive. So the employers are taking advantage of the job scarcity. I wouldn't mind that so much, if they weren't so damned rude about it. When you're getting laid off, with a family to support, having some jackass tell you it isn't personal is the same exact thing as if Tito himself were digging your grave for you, in your face. So, this shithead is laying you off, he won, you lost, and he has the base classlessness to dance in front of you and make believe that it wasn't personal. "Hey, buddy, Fuck You." Can't say that. No, cause the company could still hire you back at some point, and dammit, a job's a job, right?
That never happens in fighting. That's what I love so much about the sport. There's no lie, there's no pretend. It isn't a pantomime for real life, though many think much of the antics are staged. Maybe they are. But there is just something real and honest about a fight. Even a fight with rules. You're never going to see Ken Shammrock working up at Big Bear. But in the corporate world, it really comes down to "a job is a job." Wouldn't it level the playing field a lot more if you could grab your manager and challenge them? If you kicked their ass, you got promoted. If you didn't, then you got your ass kicked back down to your station with a bit more respect for your manager. It's direct: cause and effect. Very clear. Meaningful and everything makes sense. I think we'd all respect ourselves more, if we felt as if we had a hand in our own future: able to shape and alter course as we saw fit. Instead, we all seem to be living in Shammrock hell, unable to silence that disrespectful little shit who won't keep his mouth shut. We're all suffering with our personal Ortizes, having to listen to their ilk and their idiocy and have them calling us out in a verbal fist fight.
That brings me to the point. I'm not an Ortiz fan. I want to be. He's a sharp fighter, usually. He's got a great training philosophy. He's a fighter. I want to like the guy. I want to. But, he shows a marked lack of respect for his fellow man, his fellow fighters. He appears to be a man who doesn't respect others, and that's just not a man that I can respect. You want respect? Dignity? It starts with you. People will be people. But that doesn't mean you get preemptive and treat others dishonorably just to get them before they get you. No. You start out giving people an opportunity to earn your respect, and let the fight play out. Even the man whose arm is not raised deserves respect for standing up to the fight. As do we all. We all stand up for the fight, whether or not we will win. And there is respect in that, being willing to fight, even when the pre-fight stats say you won't.
Experience Project 10
Can't Pick 'Em
17 June 2010
Do you notice how you are sometimes stuck with relatives that are nothing at all like you? Wonder how the hell you and they came from the same clan? I wonder that. I wonder why some things aren't obvious to people like courtesy and respect.
Last night, around dinner time, I got an urgent call that my Grams was being rushed into surgery because her surgical site was so infected, it looked like she regrew the breasts they had removed. The infection was serious. My 'relative' assured me that grams was in surgery and that she would call as soon as grams was out to let me know how it went. We've done this dance before, a few weeks ago during the surgery itself when she didn't call to tell me that grams survived then. So, when 4am this morning rolled around and I still hadn't heard,.. It was nothing new.
So, it's frustrating. I want to be kept in the loop, and want to know how grams is doing. And, this relative couldn't be bothered to call me and let me know how she was? She was happy to call and say how grams was in bad shape. Happy to call to tell me that grams had cancer in the first place. Seems she was mainly happy to call and share the chaos and sadness. But not interested in seeing it through to letting folks across the country know that grams was alright.Interesting thing...some people seem to thrive on other's misery and pain. While grams was in surgery to have her double mastectomy, this relative, a close relative, went to an amusement park for the day rather than go to the hospital and support the family.
17 June 2010
Do you notice how you are sometimes stuck with relatives that are nothing at all like you? Wonder how the hell you and they came from the same clan? I wonder that. I wonder why some things aren't obvious to people like courtesy and respect.
Last night, around dinner time, I got an urgent call that my Grams was being rushed into surgery because her surgical site was so infected, it looked like she regrew the breasts they had removed. The infection was serious. My 'relative' assured me that grams was in surgery and that she would call as soon as grams was out to let me know how it went. We've done this dance before, a few weeks ago during the surgery itself when she didn't call to tell me that grams survived then. So, when 4am this morning rolled around and I still hadn't heard,.. It was nothing new.
So, it's frustrating. I want to be kept in the loop, and want to know how grams is doing. And, this relative couldn't be bothered to call me and let me know how she was? She was happy to call and say how grams was in bad shape. Happy to call to tell me that grams had cancer in the first place. Seems she was mainly happy to call and share the chaos and sadness. But not interested in seeing it through to letting folks across the country know that grams was alright.Interesting thing...some people seem to thrive on other's misery and pain. While grams was in surgery to have her double mastectomy, this relative, a close relative, went to an amusement park for the day rather than go to the hospital and support the family.
Experience Project 09
Passion and Bread
15 June 2010
One of my many absolute passions in life is making bread. Yes, I do mean home-made bread from scratch. Watch out milfs,... going to talk about ACTUAL home-making here. This is not for the feint-of-heart milfs with the bullshit facade that shatters when you look closely. This is real wife stuff, for real women.
There is something incredibly sensual and womanly about making bread. Of course, men can do it too. Just watch Michael Chiarello on Food Network (or whichever network he went to), that man is sexy and when he cooks, you wish you were in the kitchen with him. That's the thing about ACTUALLY making food. It's a labor of love. And you feed your family. It's intimate: eating food, feeding your family food you made. You're saying, "here, my family, I love you, I made you this food to nourish your body, and filled it with love to nourish your soul, be fed and be well, nourished with my love." That is precisely why it sucks to throw fast food at them while you're running out the door (which I have to do from time to time so I'm not judging).
But, the ultimate in food prep is making home-made bread. The ingredients are often so simple; water, flour and yeast. I can't tell you how many of my women friends say that they don't know how to cook. Even if you aren't married, or dating, don't you like to eat??? Beyond that, whenever I bring in home-made bread, I end up with fans following me around for a bit, begging me to know what magic voodoo I created in my kitchen. Bread-making is an art, and everyone should give it a hand. It's sexy and feels good to kneed the dough. And, there's not a damned thing wrong with getting a bit dirty.
Here's a recipe that is super easy and a great first timer. My recommendation is that you include your spouse, partner, lover, significant other. No, they aren't going to help you make the bread. But, if you will just put on some light and airy clothes, grab an apron and work this recipe, you just might find something sexy going on. Oh, and don't forget the wine... I recommend Riesling, always, it's a great first wine for those who "don't like wine." When you eat the bread, and sip the wine, you'll see what everyone means by "pairing" wine to the food. Like a great Scotch and a Cohiba,.. the pairing is delicious and sensual and makes life worth living.
1 cup of water (hot,..as in around 120 degrees Farenheit, don't have a thermometer? S'ok, it should be hot enough that you don't want to keep your finger in it, but not so hot that you're burned by the steam).
1/4 cup olive oil
2 cloves garlic minced (use that masher thingy, saves time and fingertips)
pinch of salt
1 package active dry yeast
Stir all those ingredients in a large mixing bowl with a wooden spoon (yes, it matters, if you don't have a wooden spoon, use your hands). If you use glass or metal, please warm it first by putting it under the hot tap for a minute or two. Then dry and resume. The yeast will start activating and get a bit foamy. Keep stirring for about 3-5 minutes. You should smell the yeast, it should smell like bread-ish.
Add one cup of flour and stir until well combined. Should be quite thick, and, by now, the smell of bread being made will have permeated the kitchen. Have a sip of wine!
Pour a cup of flour onto the countertop. Add two cups of the flour to the bowl and try to work in as much as you can. The dough will look horribly, and you'll be certain you got it wrong. You didn't, just turn the dough and clumps out onto the flour on the countertop (yep, it had better be cleaned already!!!).
Now, using both hands, gather up all the clumps of dough and pile them on top of the mass of dough. Smash it all down until you have a flat, large mound. Fold the mound in half. Slide your fingers under the mound and make sure nothing has stuck to the counter. Use flour as you rub any wet spots to release. Smash the dough down some more, until its flat again, and fold in half again. Keep checking under the dough. Now, for the kneeding.
This is where the true sexy begins. On a chemical level, you need to work in enough flour to make all the droplets of water and oil combine, and you need to work in enough air to feed the yeast while they work their magic. See, the yeast are eating the sugars in the mixture, and expelling gas in the process, but they need oxygen too. All of that makes your bread light and puffy and so yummy. Never kneeded dough before? It's ok, I was scared at first too. But, just think 'sexy' and you'll do fine. You don't want to be harsh or rough,..not the right time. You want to be smooth and soft, sensual but firm. So, using the heels of your hands, push your mass of dough like you're going to smash it across the counter. Then with your fingertips, gather it all back into a sort of ball. Then smash with the heels of your hands again. As you do this, you'll need to rotate the dough as well. Just let it spin a little in the ball shape before you smash forward.
Now I've heard some funny things about kneeding the dough. "Make love to the dough." That one cracks me up. No, don't do that. You'll lose track of the time. It is possible to over work the dough. Don't panic, just keep an eye on your clock when you start. You want to kneed the dough about 3-5 minutes keeping a nice steady rhythm. When you've reached that, just let the dough rest where it is.
Now, hopefully by now, you have two nice floured handprints on your bum... it's critical to good bread-making!!! ;)
Wash the bowl you used to mix initially. Wash it thoroughly, and then dry. Using a bit of oil, olive oil works best, put a bit inside the bowl (about a tablespoon worth, go ahead and eyeball it) and rub it all over the bowl with a piece of paper towel, or your fingers (feel sexy now???).
Ok, go grab your dough ball. Make sure you've rolled it into a nice tight roll. Some folks do fancy things here, for a first timer,...don't sweat it. You can watch Alton Brown work his magic later on. For now, just put the dough ball in the bowl and spin it to coat the whole ball evenly. Drape a clean kitchen towel over the bowl and leave on the counter.
The dough needs to double in size. Yes, I actually mean DOUBLE. So, gauging by the size when you put it in there, it needs to grow TWICE as big. That'll take about an hour. Guess what else takes about an hour? See?? Making bread IS sexy.
After the hour (or so) lift the towel away. If there are dry spots, rub them with more oil. Then punch the dough down (no, your not being abusive, you're just letting out excess air). Let it rest there while you do the following:
Turn the oven to 425 degrees Farenheit. Remember if you're using a stone that it needs to go in cold and preheat with the over. Otherwise, grab your cookie sheet, or pie sheet or pizza sheet and rub oil all over it.
Now, grab the bowl of dough and turn the dough onto the sheet.With your oiled fingertips, press the dough down flat and fill up the pan. It's ok if it looks weird or shaped funny. Just try to stretch it flatter. Should eventually look like the beginning of a deep dish pizza (and yes, you can use this dough recipe for pizza dough). Great! Now, into the screaming hot oven it goes. Set the timer for 10 minutes, but remember, that's not how long it will take, the timer is just to make sure you don't forget about it. At over four hundred degrees, food goes from perfect, to screwed in less than a minute, so hover near your stove cause you'll need to check it often!!!
When you can tap the top and it feels and sounds hollow inside, you're good to go. Here's what I do next, but you should try things and see what you like:
I butter the whole top of it and sprinkle parmesan cheese all over then toss it back into the oven for about 4 more minutes. MMMMMMMM
Let it sit for about 8-10 minutes before you try to cut. I use a pizza cutter to cut mine, but a knife works too. Cut into strips and grab your marinara sauce, or not... Perhaps you have some balsamic vinegar and premium olive oil? Whatever, even just plain. Enjoy that with the wine, and see if perhaps you'll fall in love with bread-making too!!!
15 June 2010
One of my many absolute passions in life is making bread. Yes, I do mean home-made bread from scratch. Watch out milfs,... going to talk about ACTUAL home-making here. This is not for the feint-of-heart milfs with the bullshit facade that shatters when you look closely. This is real wife stuff, for real women.
There is something incredibly sensual and womanly about making bread. Of course, men can do it too. Just watch Michael Chiarello on Food Network (or whichever network he went to), that man is sexy and when he cooks, you wish you were in the kitchen with him. That's the thing about ACTUALLY making food. It's a labor of love. And you feed your family. It's intimate: eating food, feeding your family food you made. You're saying, "here, my family, I love you, I made you this food to nourish your body, and filled it with love to nourish your soul, be fed and be well, nourished with my love." That is precisely why it sucks to throw fast food at them while you're running out the door (which I have to do from time to time so I'm not judging).
But, the ultimate in food prep is making home-made bread. The ingredients are often so simple; water, flour and yeast. I can't tell you how many of my women friends say that they don't know how to cook. Even if you aren't married, or dating, don't you like to eat??? Beyond that, whenever I bring in home-made bread, I end up with fans following me around for a bit, begging me to know what magic voodoo I created in my kitchen. Bread-making is an art, and everyone should give it a hand. It's sexy and feels good to kneed the dough. And, there's not a damned thing wrong with getting a bit dirty.
Here's a recipe that is super easy and a great first timer. My recommendation is that you include your spouse, partner, lover, significant other. No, they aren't going to help you make the bread. But, if you will just put on some light and airy clothes, grab an apron and work this recipe, you just might find something sexy going on. Oh, and don't forget the wine... I recommend Riesling, always, it's a great first wine for those who "don't like wine." When you eat the bread, and sip the wine, you'll see what everyone means by "pairing" wine to the food. Like a great Scotch and a Cohiba,.. the pairing is delicious and sensual and makes life worth living.
1 cup of water (hot,..as in around 120 degrees Farenheit, don't have a thermometer? S'ok, it should be hot enough that you don't want to keep your finger in it, but not so hot that you're burned by the steam).
1/4 cup olive oil
2 cloves garlic minced (use that masher thingy, saves time and fingertips)
pinch of salt
1 package active dry yeast
Stir all those ingredients in a large mixing bowl with a wooden spoon (yes, it matters, if you don't have a wooden spoon, use your hands). If you use glass or metal, please warm it first by putting it under the hot tap for a minute or two. Then dry and resume. The yeast will start activating and get a bit foamy. Keep stirring for about 3-5 minutes. You should smell the yeast, it should smell like bread-ish.
Add one cup of flour and stir until well combined. Should be quite thick, and, by now, the smell of bread being made will have permeated the kitchen. Have a sip of wine!
Pour a cup of flour onto the countertop. Add two cups of the flour to the bowl and try to work in as much as you can. The dough will look horribly, and you'll be certain you got it wrong. You didn't, just turn the dough and clumps out onto the flour on the countertop (yep, it had better be cleaned already!!!).
Now, using both hands, gather up all the clumps of dough and pile them on top of the mass of dough. Smash it all down until you have a flat, large mound. Fold the mound in half. Slide your fingers under the mound and make sure nothing has stuck to the counter. Use flour as you rub any wet spots to release. Smash the dough down some more, until its flat again, and fold in half again. Keep checking under the dough. Now, for the kneeding.
This is where the true sexy begins. On a chemical level, you need to work in enough flour to make all the droplets of water and oil combine, and you need to work in enough air to feed the yeast while they work their magic. See, the yeast are eating the sugars in the mixture, and expelling gas in the process, but they need oxygen too. All of that makes your bread light and puffy and so yummy. Never kneeded dough before? It's ok, I was scared at first too. But, just think 'sexy' and you'll do fine. You don't want to be harsh or rough,..not the right time. You want to be smooth and soft, sensual but firm. So, using the heels of your hands, push your mass of dough like you're going to smash it across the counter. Then with your fingertips, gather it all back into a sort of ball. Then smash with the heels of your hands again. As you do this, you'll need to rotate the dough as well. Just let it spin a little in the ball shape before you smash forward.
Now I've heard some funny things about kneeding the dough. "Make love to the dough." That one cracks me up. No, don't do that. You'll lose track of the time. It is possible to over work the dough. Don't panic, just keep an eye on your clock when you start. You want to kneed the dough about 3-5 minutes keeping a nice steady rhythm. When you've reached that, just let the dough rest where it is.
Now, hopefully by now, you have two nice floured handprints on your bum... it's critical to good bread-making!!! ;)
Wash the bowl you used to mix initially. Wash it thoroughly, and then dry. Using a bit of oil, olive oil works best, put a bit inside the bowl (about a tablespoon worth, go ahead and eyeball it) and rub it all over the bowl with a piece of paper towel, or your fingers (feel sexy now???).
Ok, go grab your dough ball. Make sure you've rolled it into a nice tight roll. Some folks do fancy things here, for a first timer,...don't sweat it. You can watch Alton Brown work his magic later on. For now, just put the dough ball in the bowl and spin it to coat the whole ball evenly. Drape a clean kitchen towel over the bowl and leave on the counter.
The dough needs to double in size. Yes, I actually mean DOUBLE. So, gauging by the size when you put it in there, it needs to grow TWICE as big. That'll take about an hour. Guess what else takes about an hour? See?? Making bread IS sexy.
After the hour (or so) lift the towel away. If there are dry spots, rub them with more oil. Then punch the dough down (no, your not being abusive, you're just letting out excess air). Let it rest there while you do the following:
Turn the oven to 425 degrees Farenheit. Remember if you're using a stone that it needs to go in cold and preheat with the over. Otherwise, grab your cookie sheet, or pie sheet or pizza sheet and rub oil all over it.
Now, grab the bowl of dough and turn the dough onto the sheet.With your oiled fingertips, press the dough down flat and fill up the pan. It's ok if it looks weird or shaped funny. Just try to stretch it flatter. Should eventually look like the beginning of a deep dish pizza (and yes, you can use this dough recipe for pizza dough). Great! Now, into the screaming hot oven it goes. Set the timer for 10 minutes, but remember, that's not how long it will take, the timer is just to make sure you don't forget about it. At over four hundred degrees, food goes from perfect, to screwed in less than a minute, so hover near your stove cause you'll need to check it often!!!
When you can tap the top and it feels and sounds hollow inside, you're good to go. Here's what I do next, but you should try things and see what you like:
I butter the whole top of it and sprinkle parmesan cheese all over then toss it back into the oven for about 4 more minutes. MMMMMMMM
Let it sit for about 8-10 minutes before you try to cut. I use a pizza cutter to cut mine, but a knife works too. Cut into strips and grab your marinara sauce, or not... Perhaps you have some balsamic vinegar and premium olive oil? Whatever, even just plain. Enjoy that with the wine, and see if perhaps you'll fall in love with bread-making too!!!
Experience Project 08
Comparing Kids
14 June 2010
OK, trying to write my blog while doing eight other things, and trying to prevent the baby from stripping naked and running commando down the hall.......not good. Here's a rewrite cause I never really got to the point.
Family gatherings can sometimes suck butt. My kids are the first grandkids of both sides. As the years went on, there were other grandkids besides my own. And, for the most part, the other siblings have no respect for experience. And everyone has an opinion. Of course, MY opinions are more like, truths...but perhaps I may be biased.
So, over the years, the gatherings have turned into a sort of competition. And nothing is out of the question. The competition can be positive: who's kid is smartest, most attractive, most pleasant. The competition can be horrible: who's kid was the sickest, whose kid has the most problems, most screwed up had the most violent injury, worst habits, etc. And they often aren't completely honest about it all. And the kid is there trying to defend their self. One relative actually responded to their kid's correction by saying, "yeah, they rip out your heart and then make a liar out of you." Really? Well, I agree parenting is tough, hardest job I've ever done. But, if you start out a liar,... how does the kid get the blame for it?
Well, all my kids are very bright. And they're all sometimes really insane and sometimes they do things that force me to walk away with my hand over my mouth. But I'm not about to start sharing such intimate details of my children's lives with these ass hats. I think that's why kids feel betrayed by their folks. Some of that stuff is like the meat of who they are and doesn't deserve to be on display for the rest of the relatives to judge them by. And they WILL be judged. Whatever your relatives believe to be true of you, and the kid's father, they'll believe to be true of the kid. If they think you're a jerk, they'll find a reason to believe your kid is a jerk too. And every little thing they do wrong that gets talked about in the family gets blown horribly out of proportion. Screw that.
So, over the years, my parenting choices have come under fire. From breastfeeding, to breastfeeding beyond a year, cloth diapering, being available to the kid, open communication,.. just very dedicated parent. Apparently, these things have made me quite a target. And, for some reason, they connect unrelated things as if they are related in any way. Like, when you start feeding a baby solid food. They all started around six weeks. HOLY SHIT!!! Six weeks??? Poor kid probably was passed out from distress. And they would brag!!! "My kids were all on solids by six weeks." As if that somehow meant their kid was special, or smarter, or better developed. "HEY, jackasses, your baby's gut isn't indicative of his intelligence and shoving food they can't digest won't make them smarter!!!" Of course, they all also believe that their kid's intelligence is demonstrated by how quickly the kid learns to walk, potty train, etc. For the record, even Piaget would agree that such things are unrelated to the child's untapped potential.
So, my youngest was born. And my ex's sibling had a kid around the same time. Her kid is about 7 months younger than mine. Now, my boy is a tank. He's still primarily breastfed, though he does eat stuff. Like, crayons, and rocks, and occasionally, people food. He's the size of a three year old. I call him my "pocket hulk" cause he's just a brute! Well, he still doesn't talk yet. He's got a lot of siblings that just do what he wants. Doesn't really need to talk. But there's my former sister in law, comparing her kid to mine, "gee, why doesn't he talk yet,... mine's already got twenty words..." Like I give a shit. I don't live with her kid, and that's great for her kid,.. but my kid isn't up on an auction block for judging. But, since he's big and strong, and doesn't talk, these folks feel its ok to make fun of him and imply that his strength is countered by a lack of intelligence. Well, when I regard my little pocket Hulk, I don't see a lumbering jackass who can't read and doesn't know anything. I see more of the Beast from X-Men. Very smart, incredibly strong and funny as hell. But, "pocket Beast" doesn't roll off the tongue the way "Pocket Hulk" does.
I hate that. Judging my kids against someone else's is the fastest way to piss me off. My kids are awesome! And, so what if my kid doesn't measure up in your eyes? WTF do you think I'm supposed to do about your opinion? Of course, I don't mean YOU, I mean these asshole people. I just think some people put pressures on kids that don't belong, and some people don't pay any attention to the aspects that need it. Like the relative making fun of my son's not talking: her oldest didn't talk when she was four!!! No words. None. She's almost six and does talk now. But, four is a lot older than 20 months old. So really, she has no business questioning me, when she didn't bother to get her own kid screened.
I'd rather navigate a mine field than dance with shitheads. Then again, I can't stand other people's kids either.... and I think their kids are just like them!!!
14 June 2010
OK, trying to write my blog while doing eight other things, and trying to prevent the baby from stripping naked and running commando down the hall.......not good. Here's a rewrite cause I never really got to the point.
Family gatherings can sometimes suck butt. My kids are the first grandkids of both sides. As the years went on, there were other grandkids besides my own. And, for the most part, the other siblings have no respect for experience. And everyone has an opinion. Of course, MY opinions are more like, truths...but perhaps I may be biased.
So, over the years, the gatherings have turned into a sort of competition. And nothing is out of the question. The competition can be positive: who's kid is smartest, most attractive, most pleasant. The competition can be horrible: who's kid was the sickest, whose kid has the most problems, most screwed up had the most violent injury, worst habits, etc. And they often aren't completely honest about it all. And the kid is there trying to defend their self. One relative actually responded to their kid's correction by saying, "yeah, they rip out your heart and then make a liar out of you." Really? Well, I agree parenting is tough, hardest job I've ever done. But, if you start out a liar,... how does the kid get the blame for it?
Well, all my kids are very bright. And they're all sometimes really insane and sometimes they do things that force me to walk away with my hand over my mouth. But I'm not about to start sharing such intimate details of my children's lives with these ass hats. I think that's why kids feel betrayed by their folks. Some of that stuff is like the meat of who they are and doesn't deserve to be on display for the rest of the relatives to judge them by. And they WILL be judged. Whatever your relatives believe to be true of you, and the kid's father, they'll believe to be true of the kid. If they think you're a jerk, they'll find a reason to believe your kid is a jerk too. And every little thing they do wrong that gets talked about in the family gets blown horribly out of proportion. Screw that.
So, over the years, my parenting choices have come under fire. From breastfeeding, to breastfeeding beyond a year, cloth diapering, being available to the kid, open communication,.. just very dedicated parent. Apparently, these things have made me quite a target. And, for some reason, they connect unrelated things as if they are related in any way. Like, when you start feeding a baby solid food. They all started around six weeks. HOLY SHIT!!! Six weeks??? Poor kid probably was passed out from distress. And they would brag!!! "My kids were all on solids by six weeks." As if that somehow meant their kid was special, or smarter, or better developed. "HEY, jackasses, your baby's gut isn't indicative of his intelligence and shoving food they can't digest won't make them smarter!!!" Of course, they all also believe that their kid's intelligence is demonstrated by how quickly the kid learns to walk, potty train, etc. For the record, even Piaget would agree that such things are unrelated to the child's untapped potential.
So, my youngest was born. And my ex's sibling had a kid around the same time. Her kid is about 7 months younger than mine. Now, my boy is a tank. He's still primarily breastfed, though he does eat stuff. Like, crayons, and rocks, and occasionally, people food. He's the size of a three year old. I call him my "pocket hulk" cause he's just a brute! Well, he still doesn't talk yet. He's got a lot of siblings that just do what he wants. Doesn't really need to talk. But there's my former sister in law, comparing her kid to mine, "gee, why doesn't he talk yet,... mine's already got twenty words..." Like I give a shit. I don't live with her kid, and that's great for her kid,.. but my kid isn't up on an auction block for judging. But, since he's big and strong, and doesn't talk, these folks feel its ok to make fun of him and imply that his strength is countered by a lack of intelligence. Well, when I regard my little pocket Hulk, I don't see a lumbering jackass who can't read and doesn't know anything. I see more of the Beast from X-Men. Very smart, incredibly strong and funny as hell. But, "pocket Beast" doesn't roll off the tongue the way "Pocket Hulk" does.
I hate that. Judging my kids against someone else's is the fastest way to piss me off. My kids are awesome! And, so what if my kid doesn't measure up in your eyes? WTF do you think I'm supposed to do about your opinion? Of course, I don't mean YOU, I mean these asshole people. I just think some people put pressures on kids that don't belong, and some people don't pay any attention to the aspects that need it. Like the relative making fun of my son's not talking: her oldest didn't talk when she was four!!! No words. None. She's almost six and does talk now. But, four is a lot older than 20 months old. So really, she has no business questioning me, when she didn't bother to get her own kid screened.
I'd rather navigate a mine field than dance with shitheads. Then again, I can't stand other people's kids either.... and I think their kids are just like them!!!
Experience Project 07
Backing UP
11 June 2010
My usual work car is an old Kia Spectra. For anyone wondering, KIA is Korean for "Let's Screw America." I've had this car for a long, long time. One day, I let my son borrow this car. He called me from a convenience store to let me know he could not back up out of the parking spot. I suggested a few things, but eventually gave up and told him to stick tight. The store was barely a mile away, I could run there in ten minutes. Before I got there, my son came barrelling down the road toward the house. Turns out, he simply decided that the KIA needed some off-road time.
So, he drove my car through the grass immediately in front of the vehicle, beside the telephone pole, under the diagonal wire supports, off the curb and sidewalk and onto the street. Then he drove home.
I'm typically really good with cars. Well, let me be specific. I'm good with engines. I was that greasy covered kid in coveralls beside my dad and his soldiers, watching them work on their vehicles "helping" by not getting underfoot. I didn't help much. So, I understand engines and what different car symptoms often mean. A car that won't go into reverse??? Bad news, cause that's the trans. Shit.
So, I run the car through a few paces. Park is still Park. Reverse is nothing at all, Neutral sends the car forward as does all the other gears. At first I thought, well, not so bad. Then I read the chilton on it,... very very bad. VERY VERY BAD!!! I called the transmission guy and confirmed my fear.
Inside the trans, is a sort of locking mechanism that prevents the car from going into reverse in all the other gears. EXCEPT reverse,.. in reverse, the locking pin is held away, and the engine will engage in backward motion. The locking pin is not being held away, ergo, the clamp that holds it back is broken. Great. Well, this part is on the innermost section of the trans so the whole damned thing has to be taken apart to fix. Funny thing about trans,.. when you take it apart, pieces that were functioning fine HAVE to be replaced cause they don't go back together. For a crap car that isn't worth five hundred bucks, the trans alone will cost nineteen hundred bucks to fix. YIKES!!! Holy Hell Hounds Of Antioch...So, believe it or not, I have been trying to find a new crap car.
Anyone want a KIA Spectra that 'runs great' (just not in reverse)???
11 June 2010
My usual work car is an old Kia Spectra. For anyone wondering, KIA is Korean for "Let's Screw America." I've had this car for a long, long time. One day, I let my son borrow this car. He called me from a convenience store to let me know he could not back up out of the parking spot. I suggested a few things, but eventually gave up and told him to stick tight. The store was barely a mile away, I could run there in ten minutes. Before I got there, my son came barrelling down the road toward the house. Turns out, he simply decided that the KIA needed some off-road time.
So, he drove my car through the grass immediately in front of the vehicle, beside the telephone pole, under the diagonal wire supports, off the curb and sidewalk and onto the street. Then he drove home.
I'm typically really good with cars. Well, let me be specific. I'm good with engines. I was that greasy covered kid in coveralls beside my dad and his soldiers, watching them work on their vehicles "helping" by not getting underfoot. I didn't help much. So, I understand engines and what different car symptoms often mean. A car that won't go into reverse??? Bad news, cause that's the trans. Shit.
So, I run the car through a few paces. Park is still Park. Reverse is nothing at all, Neutral sends the car forward as does all the other gears. At first I thought, well, not so bad. Then I read the chilton on it,... very very bad. VERY VERY BAD!!! I called the transmission guy and confirmed my fear.
Inside the trans, is a sort of locking mechanism that prevents the car from going into reverse in all the other gears. EXCEPT reverse,.. in reverse, the locking pin is held away, and the engine will engage in backward motion. The locking pin is not being held away, ergo, the clamp that holds it back is broken. Great. Well, this part is on the innermost section of the trans so the whole damned thing has to be taken apart to fix. Funny thing about trans,.. when you take it apart, pieces that were functioning fine HAVE to be replaced cause they don't go back together. For a crap car that isn't worth five hundred bucks, the trans alone will cost nineteen hundred bucks to fix. YIKES!!! Holy Hell Hounds Of Antioch...So, believe it or not, I have been trying to find a new crap car.
Anyone want a KIA Spectra that 'runs great' (just not in reverse)???
Experience Project 06
Dark Sunglasses
(with the mirrors on the inside)
11 June 2010
It has been brought to my attention that I view things, life through some jaded filters. You know how some people are so obnoxiously upbeat that they hear the "shiny-happy-people" song every step they take? Well, pick that Perky-Chick up and chuck her through the looking glass; then you get ME.
Jaded? Not even close. Jaded wakes up expecting things to go wrong. Jaded goes out into the world, expecting little from people. Jaded is a wussbag. Jaded lacks the courage of their convictions to step out on what they know. Jaded lacks the intestinal fortitude to be preemptive. Jaded is a bit of a pussy.
I've been forced to watch the entire series (note: series, not season, all of the seasons, back to back until I actually liked the show, which is a form of brain washing I feel) of NCIS. I'm with Ziva David:
1. If it annoys you, kill it
2. Attack first, ask questions later
3. Drive fast; it's the best way to avoid roadside bombs.
You want perky? Climb down out of my tree and go climb a willow, or some flowering bushy thing that can't bear weight. Go frolick through the tulips though they're only in season for about 3 weeks. Go cozy up to those sexy rose bushes, the thorns are lovely I'm told. The point is,.. I AM a fucking TREE. I've got deep roots, a deadly accurate moral compass, strong limbs that support which have been tested through storms and fire, and those leaves everywhere. And, I'm a tree,... I'm gray, sometimes drab. I weather the winters by dying slightly. But I'm right back in the spring, ready to grow again.
I do view things through some darkened glasses. No rosy tinting over here. But hell, why do I have to be judged about it? I haven't attended the party yet where I didn't have at least three quarters of the crowd laughing their asses off at my sarcastic observations. If Dennis Miller, Dennis Leary and Chris Rock were blended together and made into a woman,.. that woman would be my friend (not arrogant enough to claim to be THAT witty or smart). So, I have a few dark clouds that rain on only me. And the sun shines out of other chicks asses. Whatever.
On the dating front. This aspect does make me less attractive it seems. A guy I work with said, "well, guys just don't want to be dragged down all the time." Hmmm, yeah, I get that. That would suck. Seriously? I don't get that. Aren't there any jaded, pissed off dudes out there, that aren't total assholes? Of course,..they are all flocking to the impossibly cheerful, angelic little cherubs that twitter and giggle so sweet and demure with the right thing to say at every given moment..... ... ... ... ok, enough of that, I just vomited in my mouth alittle.
So,.. one does not want to venture into the dark unknown, alone. However, apparently, I will be comforted with my medium cache of weapons and knives, my stunning reparte and rapier wit, and perhaps a bottle of Scotch,...
Cheers.
(with the mirrors on the inside)
11 June 2010
It has been brought to my attention that I view things, life through some jaded filters. You know how some people are so obnoxiously upbeat that they hear the "shiny-happy-people" song every step they take? Well, pick that Perky-Chick up and chuck her through the looking glass; then you get ME.
Jaded? Not even close. Jaded wakes up expecting things to go wrong. Jaded goes out into the world, expecting little from people. Jaded is a wussbag. Jaded lacks the courage of their convictions to step out on what they know. Jaded lacks the intestinal fortitude to be preemptive. Jaded is a bit of a pussy.
I've been forced to watch the entire series (note: series, not season, all of the seasons, back to back until I actually liked the show, which is a form of brain washing I feel) of NCIS. I'm with Ziva David:
1. If it annoys you, kill it
2. Attack first, ask questions later
3. Drive fast; it's the best way to avoid roadside bombs.
You want perky? Climb down out of my tree and go climb a willow, or some flowering bushy thing that can't bear weight. Go frolick through the tulips though they're only in season for about 3 weeks. Go cozy up to those sexy rose bushes, the thorns are lovely I'm told. The point is,.. I AM a fucking TREE. I've got deep roots, a deadly accurate moral compass, strong limbs that support which have been tested through storms and fire, and those leaves everywhere. And, I'm a tree,... I'm gray, sometimes drab. I weather the winters by dying slightly. But I'm right back in the spring, ready to grow again.
I do view things through some darkened glasses. No rosy tinting over here. But hell, why do I have to be judged about it? I haven't attended the party yet where I didn't have at least three quarters of the crowd laughing their asses off at my sarcastic observations. If Dennis Miller, Dennis Leary and Chris Rock were blended together and made into a woman,.. that woman would be my friend (not arrogant enough to claim to be THAT witty or smart). So, I have a few dark clouds that rain on only me. And the sun shines out of other chicks asses. Whatever.
On the dating front. This aspect does make me less attractive it seems. A guy I work with said, "well, guys just don't want to be dragged down all the time." Hmmm, yeah, I get that. That would suck. Seriously? I don't get that. Aren't there any jaded, pissed off dudes out there, that aren't total assholes? Of course,..they are all flocking to the impossibly cheerful, angelic little cherubs that twitter and giggle so sweet and demure with the right thing to say at every given moment..... ... ... ... ok, enough of that, I just vomited in my mouth alittle.
So,.. one does not want to venture into the dark unknown, alone. However, apparently, I will be comforted with my medium cache of weapons and knives, my stunning reparte and rapier wit, and perhaps a bottle of Scotch,...
Cheers.
Experience Project 05
Little Stampy Feet
11 June 2010
All of my kids have done the same thing pre-tantrum. They stamp their little feet really quickly, like they're running in place. Its the funniest thing, and I can hardle stand there and be stern with them bouncing around before me. And their little angry faces just tickle me more and I want to tickle torture them!!!
The littlest one just burst through the gate at the top of the stairs, sending it crashing into the sidelight below and bolted down the stairs. I was fast on his heels but he still managed to get all the way down stairs, into the oldest's room, and pull a bookshelf over onto the floor. When I picked him up, he started with the stampy feet and wailing. WHY? I was ruining his fun. But I still have to pick up all the books and such. I can hear his stampy feet even downstairs as he stamps in his pack-n-play. I only have a few seconds before he remembers how to escape from there.
Added 11 July 2010
Stampy feet are kid's way of letting you know they are unhappy, or pissed. It's so clear and easy to understand. I wish that we, as adults, had the freedom to express ourselves in this free manner. Wouldn't it be so awesome, the next time someone pisses you off, if you could throw your arms over your head, start wailing like a maniac while you stamp your feet into the ground in a tribal dance of anger??!!!! Well, after all, I AM angryface!!!
11 June 2010
All of my kids have done the same thing pre-tantrum. They stamp their little feet really quickly, like they're running in place. Its the funniest thing, and I can hardle stand there and be stern with them bouncing around before me. And their little angry faces just tickle me more and I want to tickle torture them!!!
The littlest one just burst through the gate at the top of the stairs, sending it crashing into the sidelight below and bolted down the stairs. I was fast on his heels but he still managed to get all the way down stairs, into the oldest's room, and pull a bookshelf over onto the floor. When I picked him up, he started with the stampy feet and wailing. WHY? I was ruining his fun. But I still have to pick up all the books and such. I can hear his stampy feet even downstairs as he stamps in his pack-n-play. I only have a few seconds before he remembers how to escape from there.
Added 11 July 2010
Stampy feet are kid's way of letting you know they are unhappy, or pissed. It's so clear and easy to understand. I wish that we, as adults, had the freedom to express ourselves in this free manner. Wouldn't it be so awesome, the next time someone pisses you off, if you could throw your arms over your head, start wailing like a maniac while you stamp your feet into the ground in a tribal dance of anger??!!!! Well, after all, I AM angryface!!!
Experience Project 04
Chasing The White Rabbit
10 June 2010
I was talking to a friend of mine about having just bought the new Alice in Wonderland. He said that the phrase "chasing the white rabbit" was a drug reference. Apparently I've grown up completely oblivious.
I don't want to admit that I am naive. But, sometimes if the Mad Hatter's hat fits,.. you gotta wear it. Between the drug references in AIW, and the mystery around The Wizard Of Oz, I can't believe I grew up with these movies and never picked up on it. Sadly it doesn't end there.
In high school, we went of an extended trip where we were gone for a week, and stayed in hotel rooms. I ACTUALLY thought that everyone on the trip was sleeping at night, and in their own room, and alone. And I never would have thought that any drinking or drugs were happening. But, years ago, at the ten year reunion (wait,..make that twelve years ago, at my ten year reunion) a bunch of the kids I hung out with were all sharing this incredible tale. They were reminiscing about the drugs and how drunk so-and-so was, and who slept with who, and the wild kinky things they were doing. After a few long minutes listening, I asked, "wow, when did all of THAT happen?" They all started laughing. Great. Turns out, their wild kinky adventure occurred at the same time as my relatively benign and boring school field trip. Apparently, I sleep rather soundly.
Even in college, I was just not socially aware. My first roommate (who I later couldn't stand) and this guy hooked up the very first night at a freshman mixer hosted by the college. Woo-Hoo. It was supposed to be "dry week" with no booze on campus. But this guy was legal and bought some beer. Yee-Haw. We sat in our dorm room,.. and I had no clue there was some sort of etiquette surrounding roommates, and who gets to sleep in the room when someone has a "friend" over. So, I sat at my desk, with the lamp on, and just read through my textbooks (I know,...NERD). I ignored them, and was listening to a sony walkman (remember those!!!). After a while, they realized I didn't get it, but recognized I couldn't hear them. So they started having sex,.. and had someone had the good grace to just tell me, I'd have gone to the dorm library for the evening. But no,.. I stood to go to the bathroom, and managed to catch a glimpse of him riding her like Sea Biscuit. I ran into the bathroom, and straight into the adjoining room, past another couple going at it, and out their door.
Horrified, I stayed in the library all night, freezing my ass off and bawling my eyes out. While I'm a bit ashamed to admit that, at least it's honest. I had spent my years in high school just trying to support myself. I hadn't been able to learn the social interaction kind of stuff that everyone else learns. I was working a few jobs and lived alone in the smallest studio apartment you ever saw. I could stand in the center of the living room/bedroom, and in two steps, reach the kitchenette, the dining table and the bathroom door. So, sue me if I didn't have a clue.
The next morning, my roommate accosted me in the dining hall. She walked right up to me, no shame or discretion at all, and in front of the entire dining hall filled to capacity,.. she said, "next time I have a date over, if you don't leave, I'm going to throw you out." The girls in the adjoining room seemed to agree. And within a few months, the Dean gave me my own bedroom, on the top floor of the dorm, and I had no suite-mates or room mates. Had the room to my self for the rest of my time there.
Another funny event happened at college because of my naivete... going to a Dead concert. No one told me that I might get high, just from breathing the air... My good friend was shocked that I'd never heard of the Dead,.. so he bought me a ticket, along with a whole bunch of people. We took a van up there to the concert. At some point, someone handed me the keys to the van because I was "white." I thought they meant my nationality (which is only half true), but they meant that I was pure... yikes. In college, that's the same as calling someone "boring" "dull" and "unattractive." So, I watched the concert, and most of the folks with us drifted away. I remember seeing some of them eating little bits of paper which I thought was weird (duh). And the friend that brought me promised he wouldn't leave my side,... About ten minutes in, his old lover and he connected and he left. So, after about an hour of the concert, I started feeling confused, dazed, dizzy and silly. I went over to a man who was standing at a booth, and I said, "I don't feel so well, somethings wrong." He handed me a sandwich. So I ate it,.. not bright,.. do not eat food a stranger hands you. HHEEEYYY! Kinda like Alice!!!
Anyway, so eventually, I staggered out to the van, surprised I found it, and the doors were locked. I forgot I had the keys, which was just as well, cause some of my friends were using the space... *wink wink* So I sat on the ground, by the driver's side door still confused. After a long time, everyone got back, and I opened the van and we all piled in. To say that my driving was erratic would be an understatement. Eventually, my friend (with his lover beside him) told me to pull over. So I did. He drove us back toward campus.
Around this time, I started complaining that I was really hungry. The sandwich wasn't cutting it. I was HUNGRY. So my friend (Paul, to make this easier) stopped at Denny's. While everyone ordered food, I actually devoured mine and some of each of theirs. I was hungry. But then, I threw up. So Paul got worried (he was fatherly of me, cause I was so naive) and decided to take me to the university clinic. I was scared they were trying to kidnap me and made a huge scene leaving Denny's. And I felt weird.
We got to the clinic, and they brought me in. The doctor asked me a few questions, but then just said, "what drugs did you do tonight?" He wouldn't listen to me,.. I didn't do drugs. I started vomiting violently again. And, I broke out in hives. Seriously, hives, everywhere. Paul tried to convince the dude that I hadn't done any drugs. But they ran blood tests and confirmed that I had marijuana in my system. The levels were really low, though, too low for the length of time that had passed. So eventually the very young and not bright doc realized that it was a contact high, from being completely surrounded by the smoke from others smoking dope. I wasn't allergic to the dope,.. but at Denny's, they had a kind of crab cake thing that they served (which I'm surprised was not Krab cake,..) and the chef cross contaminated my food with one of my friend's food--the crab, which I'm allergic to.
I've never tried drugs because of that event. But I do remember the silliness and the confusion,.. and the hunger. I've always believed that we should legalize marijuana, and put huge imbargos and taxes on stuff coming into the country, and bolster farmers who grow home-grown weed legally. We can tax the crap out it, like we already do with tobacco and alcohol. And I bet we wouldn't have a deficit, could provide healthcare for the country, and would pull our service members home, because we need them here. THAT is what I call, chasing the white rabbit... creatively solving a problem, while knocking out four other problems at the same time!
10 June 2010
I was talking to a friend of mine about having just bought the new Alice in Wonderland. He said that the phrase "chasing the white rabbit" was a drug reference. Apparently I've grown up completely oblivious.
I don't want to admit that I am naive. But, sometimes if the Mad Hatter's hat fits,.. you gotta wear it. Between the drug references in AIW, and the mystery around The Wizard Of Oz, I can't believe I grew up with these movies and never picked up on it. Sadly it doesn't end there.
In high school, we went of an extended trip where we were gone for a week, and stayed in hotel rooms. I ACTUALLY thought that everyone on the trip was sleeping at night, and in their own room, and alone. And I never would have thought that any drinking or drugs were happening. But, years ago, at the ten year reunion (wait,..make that twelve years ago, at my ten year reunion) a bunch of the kids I hung out with were all sharing this incredible tale. They were reminiscing about the drugs and how drunk so-and-so was, and who slept with who, and the wild kinky things they were doing. After a few long minutes listening, I asked, "wow, when did all of THAT happen?" They all started laughing. Great. Turns out, their wild kinky adventure occurred at the same time as my relatively benign and boring school field trip. Apparently, I sleep rather soundly.
Even in college, I was just not socially aware. My first roommate (who I later couldn't stand) and this guy hooked up the very first night at a freshman mixer hosted by the college. Woo-Hoo. It was supposed to be "dry week" with no booze on campus. But this guy was legal and bought some beer. Yee-Haw. We sat in our dorm room,.. and I had no clue there was some sort of etiquette surrounding roommates, and who gets to sleep in the room when someone has a "friend" over. So, I sat at my desk, with the lamp on, and just read through my textbooks (I know,...NERD). I ignored them, and was listening to a sony walkman (remember those!!!). After a while, they realized I didn't get it, but recognized I couldn't hear them. So they started having sex,.. and had someone had the good grace to just tell me, I'd have gone to the dorm library for the evening. But no,.. I stood to go to the bathroom, and managed to catch a glimpse of him riding her like Sea Biscuit. I ran into the bathroom, and straight into the adjoining room, past another couple going at it, and out their door.
Horrified, I stayed in the library all night, freezing my ass off and bawling my eyes out. While I'm a bit ashamed to admit that, at least it's honest. I had spent my years in high school just trying to support myself. I hadn't been able to learn the social interaction kind of stuff that everyone else learns. I was working a few jobs and lived alone in the smallest studio apartment you ever saw. I could stand in the center of the living room/bedroom, and in two steps, reach the kitchenette, the dining table and the bathroom door. So, sue me if I didn't have a clue.
The next morning, my roommate accosted me in the dining hall. She walked right up to me, no shame or discretion at all, and in front of the entire dining hall filled to capacity,.. she said, "next time I have a date over, if you don't leave, I'm going to throw you out." The girls in the adjoining room seemed to agree. And within a few months, the Dean gave me my own bedroom, on the top floor of the dorm, and I had no suite-mates or room mates. Had the room to my self for the rest of my time there.
Another funny event happened at college because of my naivete... going to a Dead concert. No one told me that I might get high, just from breathing the air... My good friend was shocked that I'd never heard of the Dead,.. so he bought me a ticket, along with a whole bunch of people. We took a van up there to the concert. At some point, someone handed me the keys to the van because I was "white." I thought they meant my nationality (which is only half true), but they meant that I was pure... yikes. In college, that's the same as calling someone "boring" "dull" and "unattractive." So, I watched the concert, and most of the folks with us drifted away. I remember seeing some of them eating little bits of paper which I thought was weird (duh). And the friend that brought me promised he wouldn't leave my side,... About ten minutes in, his old lover and he connected and he left. So, after about an hour of the concert, I started feeling confused, dazed, dizzy and silly. I went over to a man who was standing at a booth, and I said, "I don't feel so well, somethings wrong." He handed me a sandwich. So I ate it,.. not bright,.. do not eat food a stranger hands you. HHEEEYYY! Kinda like Alice!!!
Anyway, so eventually, I staggered out to the van, surprised I found it, and the doors were locked. I forgot I had the keys, which was just as well, cause some of my friends were using the space... *wink wink* So I sat on the ground, by the driver's side door still confused. After a long time, everyone got back, and I opened the van and we all piled in. To say that my driving was erratic would be an understatement. Eventually, my friend (with his lover beside him) told me to pull over. So I did. He drove us back toward campus.
Around this time, I started complaining that I was really hungry. The sandwich wasn't cutting it. I was HUNGRY. So my friend (Paul, to make this easier) stopped at Denny's. While everyone ordered food, I actually devoured mine and some of each of theirs. I was hungry. But then, I threw up. So Paul got worried (he was fatherly of me, cause I was so naive) and decided to take me to the university clinic. I was scared they were trying to kidnap me and made a huge scene leaving Denny's. And I felt weird.
We got to the clinic, and they brought me in. The doctor asked me a few questions, but then just said, "what drugs did you do tonight?" He wouldn't listen to me,.. I didn't do drugs. I started vomiting violently again. And, I broke out in hives. Seriously, hives, everywhere. Paul tried to convince the dude that I hadn't done any drugs. But they ran blood tests and confirmed that I had marijuana in my system. The levels were really low, though, too low for the length of time that had passed. So eventually the very young and not bright doc realized that it was a contact high, from being completely surrounded by the smoke from others smoking dope. I wasn't allergic to the dope,.. but at Denny's, they had a kind of crab cake thing that they served (which I'm surprised was not Krab cake,..) and the chef cross contaminated my food with one of my friend's food--the crab, which I'm allergic to.
I've never tried drugs because of that event. But I do remember the silliness and the confusion,.. and the hunger. I've always believed that we should legalize marijuana, and put huge imbargos and taxes on stuff coming into the country, and bolster farmers who grow home-grown weed legally. We can tax the crap out it, like we already do with tobacco and alcohol. And I bet we wouldn't have a deficit, could provide healthcare for the country, and would pull our service members home, because we need them here. THAT is what I call, chasing the white rabbit... creatively solving a problem, while knocking out four other problems at the same time!
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