The Celluloid Dollhouse

Take a ride on the matrimony pony to babyland...

2012-02-12T18:25:00.000-08:00

I want to stick my chopstick in this woman's eye.

But perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start this post with a simple misunderstanding... My mother in law left a message on my cell a few months ago when we were getting married that sounded like this: "Hi! Just had a couple of questions about some different things... When should we meet you tomorrow for the rehearsal dinner? Have you seen by blue scarf? Oh, don't forget to pick up Harold from the airport and then to the reception. Also, are you guys going to have kids? And lastly, who is delivering flowers? Ok, see you tomorrow!"

Wait, what? Did she just ask me if we were having kids? Did she just slip in that most dreaded of all bride questions between Uncle Harold and flowers? It's no one's business about my uterus or our life changing decisions or any of that! I worked myself into a frenzy until I blew up a TMS asking him why his mother was asking about our reproduction ideals. I made him listen to the message she left and he laughed. She was asking if we were having children at the wedding. As in, were we inviting kids... I'm an idiot.

But that little sitcom-esque misunderstanding does bring up something that many newly weds are asked more frequently than not. And to me wanting to stab my eating utensil into Lucile.

But why, you ask? What would make me, a mild-mannered artist, a peace loving girl, to make me consider severely maiming one of my mother's best friends while having lunch at Hiko Sushi? One simple question...

"When are you two going to have a baby?"

That's when I go deaf and blind and just start swinging. I'm sure it's just someone thinking of a topic of conversation, taking an interest in my life. I mean, that is how the song goes, right? "First comes love, then comes marriage, then come baby in the baby carriage." But it's not 1950 anymore. And I'm not June Cleaver. So I may have said one of the following things that may or may not have gotten me in trouble with my mom.

We are waiting to see how your spawn turns out before we decide to get started.
Ewww! No, we won't be having one of those things. And if my body starts to bio-terrorize me with brainwashed ideas of babies, I'll just get a puppy.
Well you complain so much about your own kids we've decided that we may not want any...
I knew I forgot to do something! Better make a note on my ipad... Hold on...

Hey, it beats "It's none of your goddamn business."

The Drag Queen, the dead body and vouging

2012-01-28T14:10:00.000-08:00

It sounds like a great way to start a movie.

A man dies in woman's clothes on a Sunday. In 1993, AIDS was more common in the obituary. Weeks pass and a friend is selling off some old clothes when she discovers a green plaid bag that is too heavy to lift, too overstuffed to find the zipper. With a pair of scissors, the bag is opened to find a rotting, half mummified corpse. It may have been there for decades. Why would Dorian Corey have a dead body with a bullet hole in it's head in a trunk in her New York apartment?

Dorian Corey was a drag queen, performer and one of the stars of Paris is Burning. (Which was a introduction to many on the newest dance crazy of "Voguing") His given name was Fredrick Legg and he was born in Buffalo. She moved to the city, became Dorian, rocked the drag scene for over a decade and then, sadly, Dorian died at age 56 due to complications from AIDS. A tragically common way things ended in the mid-90s. Only this time, she left something behind. Or, I should say, someone.

According to the New York Magazine article from 1995, Robert Worely, the man in the suitcase, was last seen by his family in 1968. He was convicted of rape and assault in 1963. And sometime between then and 1993, he wound up in Corey's bag. The body was wrapped not unlike a mummy: layers and layers of fabric, tape, plastic, etc. When unwrapping, small things were found in between the layers. Rings and paper but most interesting, a flip top beer can. Not made since the seventies. Therefore, the coroner suggested he'd probably been there since 1980 or before.

Can you imagine having a body in your house for 15 years or longer? You're doing laundry or watching tv when that suitcase catches your eye. You know what it is and what it could mean for you if anyone found out...

Robert's brother Fred wasn't surprised when the reporter told him that he may have had a relationship with a girlfriend who happened to be a man. He also wasn't surprised that he was murdered either. "...we figured something had befallen him" (I imagine not many things must bother Fred.) Robert Worely was buried in potter's field.

No one will really know what happened to Robert except Robert and Dorian and they're both gone. So we're left with bits of their lives, photos and this strange story.

For more, check out the whole article in the New York Mag - http://bit.ly/pbwV72
Or these NSFW but amazing photos of Dorian and others who were on the scene in the 90's- http://www.sallys-hideaway.com/A_Pictorial_History.html

A Little Something for the Ladies

2012-01-24T22:00:00.001-08:00

Wow.

Since 50/50 comes out on DVD today I would give you some amazing Joseph Gordon-Levitt hotness. Why do I love him so much? It could be the film Brick, 10 Things I Hate About You or maybe just that adorable crooked smile. Regardless, he's tasty and I can't wait to see him in the new Batman flick.

I'd like to send a big thank you to GQ for, well, for everything. I'm forever in your debt for these pictures. Hallelujah.

Check out the full article and MORE photos at GQ's site.
.

High School Hell

2012-01-19T16:43:00.000-08:00

I am a hopeless awkward nerd.

I was when I was younger, I am now and I imagine I will always be that way. But let me explain how I've come to this statement.

I just finished reading The Geeks Shall Inherit the Earth by Alexandra Robbins after hearing a piece on NPR about it. In a nut shell, it tells the stories of 7 young people, how they deal with being different and how the school administration, their friends, their parents and even they themselves can make it better or worse. She also throws in some pop psychology for good measure, showing how kids who are considered the "cafeteria fringe" often thrive after high school for the exact same reasons they were persecuted. (What she calls Quirk Theory.)

What it doesn't talk about is the kids that couldn't overcome, like a 80's teen movie. Kids who never "got the girl", who showed the bully up or sang on a parade float. For every kid that thrived, there are 30 more who never got to shine. They couldn't break free of their station, couldn't escape the bullying, couldn't make new friends and didn't end the book, I mean high school, with an up-beat final thought. And because sometimes, the "real world" is just as cliquey, cruel and bullyish as high school. (Hello corporate America!) But that's a whole other blog...

I know I ran out the front doors screaming "FREEEEEDOOOOOM" on my last day. The blue face paint and kilt were probably overkill but what can I say? I was young and impulsive. Part of me (the selfish 16 year old me) wanted to yell at this book, "What about me?! I was tortured and bullied and hated life! Where's my Quirk Theory?!"

I don't want to come off as bitter (cause who wants to do that, right?) but this book, and any discussion of that time, really brought back some painful and icky feelings I had forgot about. The girls behind me who liked to pull out my hair a few strands at a time.The group of boys who poured coke in my backpack. The football guys who left their soup in my lunch chair (and the subsequent cleaning/drying in the girls bathroom, standing in my underwear under the hand dryer). Lunch in the bathroom so I wouldn't have to walk into the lunch room anymore. Name calling, gossip and flat out insults where just another day among the four thousand other kids in my high school. I won't even get into the spitting incident...

"Dear Me: A Letter to my 16 Year Old Self" by Joseph Galliano offers that opportunity to offer advice to my high school self. Or my injured inner teen. Or maybe actual kids out there. I won't get too personal but I would do things differently. You can survive without these "friends" who aren't really your friends. You can have a real life that has nothing to do with school. You can be free. School is just a place to get you to the next step, something more important.

In the end, the non-thriving geek was not really what the book was about. I'd love to read one that was. I wish I could do it again. At the very least, I wish I could tell kids that the 4-7 years of hell you have to endure feels like a lifetime but trust me, there's so much more. Even the time outside of school, after school, weekends, vacations, that is your real life. The moments when you are thrust into this twisted sociological experiment called high school isn't the only time you exist. Your social and academic life in high school don't validate your existence. The more you live outside school, the more you are you and there is opportunity to be happy and fulfilled.

Trust me. I survived and so can you.

Check out this great and humorous article about one girl's fight with her bully:
http://www.violentacres.com/archives/89/how-to-be-a-girl-bully/

Let me make this clear: I hate Celine Dion.

2012-01-12T17:48:00.001-08:00

And that movie was pure cheese. But this is not as lame as you think...

On April 14 of this year, it will be th 100th aniversary of the sinking of the Titanic. Don't start retching yet... we all know the basics. Water tight compartments, big egos and one big chunk of ice. And we have all probably seen the movie. (and if you haven't, you'll have a change again when Cameron re-releases in April, just in case he didn't get you the first time...)

According to Nick Barratt's Lost Voices from the Titanic, there were 2201 people on board that night and only 711 made it home. If you were on the ship, you had the best chances of making it out alive if you were a first or second class child. Worst chances if you were third class adult male.

There were three ships built under the same contract: Titanic, Britannic and Olympic were all to be built one right after another in similar fashions. All are gone now. Obviously the Titanic sunk, the Britannic was hit by a torpedo by an enemy sub during WW1 and the Olympic had 24 years on the ocean before it was scraped for metal. (Not that the Olympic had a quiet life at all: crashes, mutiny and and more than one rescue mission.) The closest thing you can get to any of these ships (namely a "Titanic" type experience) would be to travel to the White Swan Hotel in Northumberland, England. When the Olympic was being scraped, they also sold of entire rooms, to which the White Swan bought the paneling, fixtures, etc from the first class louge, as well as one of the grand staircases. Since both the Olympic and Titanic were built with practically the same plans only a year or so apart, one could sit in that room in Northumberland and imagine life on the Titanic, for a breif moment.

In the interest of interest (and moving forward in a positive direction) I'm planning a super fun and geeky event that I'm really excited about and I had to share. To observe this moment in history (yay history!) I'm throwing a dinner party. I'm a girl that loves her theme parties and even more when history is involved. When recovering wreckage, 2 menus were found. One from 2nd class, another from 1st. So I will be cooking several courses from the 1st class restaurant. (That night, there were over 12 courses but I'll only serve about 6 or 7.)

I'm making decorations and I'll be searching for period music of the time. I'll also be playing the movie! (NOT the 1997 film, not that it doesn't have it's place. I'll be showing 1958's A Night To Remember based on Walter Lord's book. Yay for a night without Celine Dion!)

Pictures will be posted as I prepare invites and props, and of course the meal, so stay tuned!

*Geeky squeal*

A Hard Day and a Dark Hole.

2012-01-09T08:31:00.000-08:00

Today is hard.

Some days are easier. I can hop out of bed, go to the gym, run errands, apply for work, clean the house. I can't seem to do that today.

I'm a bit pathetic at the moment. Curled up in front of my computer, under the covers. I am with out a job or income besides being able to sell things online and at consignment stores. The house is a mess. I've gained weight and I hate the way I look right now. I wish I were smaller. My husband, at his gratifying and well paying job, is sexually unsatisfied with me. My parents feel neglected. My friends move on without me. I'm alone here, under the covers.

Unemployed friends and acquiescence were with me once, part of the disenfranchised and unpaid looking for work here and there. It was our little club where we could support each other, laugh at terrible interview stories and the desperate search for the silliest jobs.. But now, I look around the club house and find I'm all alone and so scared of more failure.

Why won't anyone hire me? I've spent hours on my resume, given it to no less than 7 people to review. I desperately try to speak to a person, get an interview, even to just look someone in the eye, proof to myself that I've made it to this step, that someone has noticed me.

I feel this physical hurt through me. I grit my teeth and rub my legs, like I can somehow push the sad out through my toes. Wouldn't that be good?

I make no money, therefore I have no worth.
I have no career, therefore I am of no concern.
If I were on ebay, no one would bid.
If I were at a swap meet, I'd be in the free pile.

Why can't I just be happy? Why can't I just paint and sew and not feel a crushing guilt of being without a 'path'? Is it true I can't be an artist unless I can live off my earnings? I feel it must be true. I watch the credits at the end of a movie, the long list of names; they all have careers. All my facebook friends update about how they hate their jobs. Someone had to assemble this computer, sell it, ship it. All those people were paid to do that. The garbage man outside my window. The person who designed these sheets. Every building full of people working on something.

I miss my brother. I feel like he would understand. I imagine it in my head: He sees me struggling, sad and he would come over to see me, pizza and video games in hand and we would spend the rest of the day talking, stuffing our faces and killing zombies. Then we would drive in his car and get dinner and he would tell me that it's just a rough patch and it would be ok. He would help me find something, somehow.

I'm going to allow myself a shower to feel all this. About 30 minutes to feel bad, cry and hate myself. Then I'm getting up, getting dressed, putting on makeup and going out into the world, looking good so no one will know. (Because as much as I hope someone will notice, I hope even more that they don't.) I'll feel better later, when I get over myself, when I realize there are people starving, people that have cancer, people who suffer while I lie here warm, under 300 count covers.

I have to reference one of my favorite people here, because I think she nailed it on the head. It makes me feel not so bad and made me smile.

Deep breath. Here I go.

Mexican Hot Chocolate or Happy Holidays, you snooty bitches.

2011-12-21T09:00:00.000-08:00

I'm a fraud.

Yes gourmet eaters, I am a sham so feel free to turn your noses up at me. The following recipe will make you shutter.

1 packet Swiss Miss or whatever decent coco mix you have
1 cup of milk
some dark chocolate nibs
couple shakes of Cinnamon
a shake of Cayenne (careful, it's stronger than you think)
Whipped cream, if you want... and you do.

Heat milk in a pan with chocolate nibs and cocoa packet, continuously stirring or the milk will burn. Ick.
Once it's steaming and the chocolate is melted into the milk, pour into glass. Add cinnamon, cayenne to taste. You must add whipped cream or you can't be my friend. Unless you're lactose intolerant, then it's ok.
Don't burn your tongue and enjoy!

Yeah, it's mostly mix. I don't care. Suck my holiday cheer.
Happy Holidays bitches!

Ok, so I'm a little dead...

2011-11-28T07:04:00.000-08:00

Death is a bit of an eggageration.

So I've been away on my honeymoon for a few weeks or so and I'm finally recovered enough to crawl to my keyboard and tell you all (nobody) what I've been up to. Soooo lets see...

I got married
Had not one but two receptions, each in a different state
Continued looking for work, running errands, cleaning, organizing and packing
Flew to Europe
Skipped though Paris
Danced though Italy
Food poisoned hubby
And a partridge in a fucking pear tree! Yay!

So now I'm back and ready to move ahead with some amazing and riviting stories of the natural and not-so-natural world!

Glad to be home!

Mmmm, cookies...

2011-11-20T15:56:00.000-08:00

Ginger molasses cookies. Fuck yeah.

2 1/4 cups flour
2 or so tsp ginger
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp cloves
1 pinch of salt
1 1/2 sticks of butter (yeah, that's a lot, shut up and do it.)
1 cup sugar
1 egg
1 Tbsp water
1/4 molasses (I like the super dark molasses but any kind will do)
more sugar for dipping

1. Eventually you will need to preheat the oven to 350 but you don't acutally have to do that first thing. It's gonna be at least 45 min before you can stick these mounds of yummy fun (not a euphamisim) in the oven.

2. Mix dry stuff. Flour, ginger, baking soda, cinnamon, cloves and salt and leave it someplace on the counter that you won't knock it over. (true story)

3. Cream sugar and butter. (ie mix the two together until it's a creamy mixture. If you have a mixer, use it.) Then toss in the egg, then water and molasses. Once that's all mixed, then slowly add the dry stuff.

4. Importante senors y senoritas! Let it set in the fridge for at least 25-30 minutes so that when you do the next thing, the dough isn't stuck to every part of you it touches. You have been warned.

5. Take a chunk, roll in your hand to make a ball, squish to a flat-ish shape. (I like to clap my hands together then simulate the cookie dough squish death.) Then take the happy ginger discus and toss it in a bowl with sugar in it. Coat well. Arrange on cookie sheet.

6. Toss into oven. 8-10 minutes. They will be a bit gooey so let them cool for a bit and they'll firm up.

7. Shovel into mouth.

Or if you live in my house, hide them from a certain someone who is addicted and eats them all before I can shovel them into my mouth. You know who you are.

Happy Hanukkah or whatever is coming up next month! Who cares?! Cookies!

What's passing for romance

2011-09-29T13:56:00.000-07:00

The Graduate is not romantic.

It makes me a little crazy that people think it is. People like the American Film Institute. Sorry Dustin Hoffman but you are a stalker and a bit of a bastard. Ok, maybe not Dustin but his character was. Well, maybe Dustin Hoffman is a bastard but I don’t really think so. This is not a good example on how to win a girl. Sure, the movie is at it's base about feelings of being lost, loneliness and perhaps, misguided love but so is Fatal Attraction. Both great movies but great romances? Nope.

The Way We Were? I think not. Ill fitted couple who fight constantly because they are obviously not right for one another. He wants the opposite kind of girl that she is and she insufferable, seemingly wanting nothing but to argue. I'm obviously not a fan of this one so I should just shut my hole.

My Fair Lady? Lovely story with fun music (if you’re into that kind of thing) but romantic? Rex Harrison’s character treats her like dirt on his feet, calls her names, dismisses her as if she were a dog. Sure he might come to his senses in the end but if I were Eliza I would run for the hills.

From Here to Eternity? (The one where the couple rolls around in the sand as the waves crash onto them) Burt Lancaster is quiet, brooding and a bit surly. Deborah Kerr is married and bored. She cheats a lot but ‘really loves’ him, unlike all the others. But her husband is leaving and where he goes, she must follow and they are never to meet again. What?

I’m not even going to touch Pretty Woman. Ug.

I’m not saying that none of these are romantic at all, I’m just saying that they are not good examples of a healthy relationships/romances. I know I've touched on this before but while picking up some library books I overheard some girls chatting about some new chic flick that came out and it ruffled my feathers that such shlock could be considered romance.

Ok you picky bitch, you’re saying, give me a good example! I’ll let “Girls with Slingshots” answer that one. Click it, you know you want to...

When I think of one, I’ll let you know.

Buster Keaton - One hot piece of ass

2011-09-28T12:13:00.000-07:00

His name was Buster and he was amazing.

Actually, his name was Joseph. And statistically, 85% of you have no idea who he is. (I'm totally making that up, but you get the idea.) I think more people are familiar with Charlie Chaplin and many people compare the two but they are very different performers. Both important film pioneers, actors, directors but Keaton is sorely under appreciated.

He was born into show business, actually traveling with Houdini during the vaudeville years. When he was a small child, the family shtick was tossing little Buster into the scenery, offstage and even into the audience. The kid was indestructible. They had a decent run of things until Joe Keaton, his father, managed to break up the troupe (ie the family) with his horrible drinking.

He easily transitioned into film, he started pairing with Fatty Arbuckle (more on him some other post) in two reel shorts and began to branch off on his own. He did his own stunts, even breaking his neck once when a water tank full of water dumped onto him. He didn't realize it until later. The man was indestructible.

Unfortunately, like many silent film stars, this does not end well. Bankruptcy, divorce and, shudder, Beach Blanket Bingo. No joke. The studios screwed him over and over again and continuously was overlooked by those who should have been giving him wheel barrels full of money to make movies. He did continue to work but always below what he thought he should be doing. In Limelight, one of Chaplin's last films, he woefully looks at Chaplin and says "I never thought we'd come to this." That pretty much sums it up. Buster Keaton died of lung cancer in 1965. He wasn't totally indestructible afterall.

So why tell you this sad story? You have to know this man, if not for his amazing skills as a director, actor, stuntman, or the films he has left behind, then for the fact that he was one hell of a physical specimen. This was brought to my attention by Bangable Dudes in History, which I totally recommend you all check out. (there are bangable dames too, fellas.) Historical hotness is the best kind of hotness.

So get your ass on netflix and watch 7 chances or The Navigator on instant and enjoy his comic genius and adorableness.

Check out more info on this incredible performer and dead sexy man here:

http://findadeath.com/Deceased/k/Buster%20Keaton/buster_keaton.htm
http://www.sensesofcinema.com/2002/great-directors/keaton/
http://www.nytimes.com/learning/general/onthisday/bday/1004.html

Let's get drunk and craft, bitches!

2011-09-20T09:47:00.000-07:00

You're not supposed to drink alone.

You're also not supposed to get naked and cook bacon either but that never stopped me. The grease burns are worth it.

The Mad Scientist was away for the week at a conference so I found myself alone, bored and stuck with prime time gems like CSI: Sheboygan and My Dad's A Stupid S*#! or whatever. What's a girl to do?

Well, she slaps in Tangled, drinks an entire bottle of wine while singing along to the movie and crafts Star Wars characters out of perler beads.

Best night ever.

Futurism, objectivity, and the scorn for women.

2011-08-30T09:40:00.000-07:00

In 1909, Founder of the Futurism art movement summed up the objectives as "We will glorify war - the world's only hygiene - militarism, patriotism, the destructive gesture of freedom-bringers, beautiful ideas worth dying for and scorn for women."

Not a good way to win this girl over.

I do so enjoy the art that this movement but it was, obviously, a movement full of men. (not totally; Natalia Goncharova was a prominent painter on the scene at the time.) It sounds good in the beginning. An art movement that embraces technology that was gaining speed at the turn of the century. Not just technology but change, media, and how it shapes our little lives.

But as it became engrossed in politics, and some of the artists embracing fascism and war (not too surprising since the movement started in Italy 1909), my feelings start to turn a little sour. I love the sense that I get from some the works, invoking the sensations of the world’s first big cosmopolitan cities. Beautiful light, color and always interesting movement. And because of Futurism movement, Art Deco was born, for which I will forever be grateful.

So the real question is, can you still love the art when the original intention of the art (or the artist) is something you are fundamentally against?

Can you like a painting by a serial killer? Or a member of the KKK? Hitler was a painter…

Can you look objectively?

"Nipples thru bra"

2011-07-29T12:17:00.000-07:00

Seriously?

One of most searched keywords that leads people to my blog... "nipples thru bra". Please, take a sec and search my site. Go ahead, I'll wait.
This is not sex site. Sex is complicated enough without me sticking my nose into it. Sure, I'll occasionally talk about it but why is google sending perverts to my site with "nipples thru bra"?

...wait, I haven't thought this through.

I've changed my mind. People who search for something as innocent as "nipples thru bra" are totally welcome here. If you were searching for "mandatory sex party", bien venue! If you were searching for "sexy red headed blogger", you are defenitly in the right place. But if you were searching for anything to do with sheep, trapeze, or zipper maskes, I think you're in the wrong place. You've stepped out of 'pervert' territory and into 'freak' country. Perhaps go here instead and lighten up. Otherwise...

BRING ON THE PERVERTS!

Tor - The fabulous warrior

2011-06-10T18:02:00.000-07:00

The story of Tor

Thor was made in Taiwan by a 13 year old boy on a hot afternoon on the week before Christmas.

He was big; a strong toy of a viking, Thor, was a destroyer of men. And he was the best viking of all of hundreds made that day. When his crate arrived in California's major distribution centers, all the other vikings had black eyes and smashed toes. He was king of all he surveyed.

And sure enough, he was the first one picked off the shelf, given to a freckle faced red headed boy with a mean look on his face. This was Thor's kind of boy.

Together, they terrified the neighbors and conqured mother's rose garden. Victory was theirs. But one day, on the boy's birthday, he got a bb gun and forgot all about Thor. Then one particularly dark day, the pit bull got ahold of Thor.

As Boomer tore into his mighty torso he thought what a sad state he was. And North Dakota sucked too. Splayed out on the kithen floor, his stuffing pulled from his stomach, he felt the cold despair and ruin fall over him. Alone and hopeless he resigned to end his wretched existence.

Into the fireplace he flung himself, but not far enough it seemed, for he only made it halfway, burning his arms and the back of his mighty head. Mother came in, shouting at the boy that he could have burned the house down. Tossed into the basement, burned and broken, he lay for many months.

He knew no happiness or relief. And when mother threw this once mighty warrior to the bowels of the home, he thought about life and death and reincarnation. And he lay in the basement, in despair and a pile of rafes until an angel glowing in pink moved over him. For years he had wished and wished, He had cried our for help. and finally he grew quiet and gave up. But now, he was in the arms of God, speaking to the infinisly large person. God spoke. You can be reborn and begin a new life. There will be pain and death but you will become new again. What do you want, Tor? Tor thought and quicly agreed. White hot light pierced Tors body and he ceased to be.

Tor awoke at the Tulsa City art fair at 12:30 in the afternoon. To the left of him was a little dog that looked very funny. His long ears were fluffy but the rest of him was hairless. His stitching looked weird. It was as if someobe had turned him inside out. To the right, triplet penquins with the same syle as if they had been turned inside out. Then he looked down at himself. He was purple, inside out and funny looking too. What had he agreed to? What had God done to him?

The bright sun was suddenly clouded by a giant. A girl with hair like the sun reached down and picked up the purple bundle of muscles and polyester. Thor was frightened and waited for his inevitable mocking. But instead, words of love and praise came from the girl. His neighbors were picked up as well, hugged and put into a wicker basket next to him. Thor, Slukey the dog, and Eep, Opp, and Ork the penguins were going home with the girl with hair like the sun.

"You are all so wonderful and I know you will all get along and have wonderful adventures together!"

And the girl with hair like the sun was right. They were best of friends. They wrestled alligators, drank prickly pear juice and lived and danced in the sunroom in the girls home.

And they lived happily ever after.

The End.

Titus

2011-05-23T11:14:00.000-07:00

Christopher Titus is fucked up.

I'm sure he'd be the first to admit that. A comedian that tells jokes about domestic violence, suicide, molestation, rape, death and his own struggles with addiction and pain, is not something you think would be all that funny. But he is. And that's why I've been a fan of his for over a decade.

His stand up is more like a one man show, telling stories about his life. He talks about his schizophrenic mother who shot her last husband (she was acquitted) then later killed herself in 1994. His father who married 6 times and was more than harsh to him at times. (He died in 2001 of a heart attack)The only person he doesn't speak much of is his sister Shannon, who killed herself in 2004. He's been beaten, cheated on, divorced, and fallen into a bonfire, hands first. I know it doesn't sound funny at all, but here's why it is.

For other fucked up people, who have had some bad things happen to us or have made some bad choices, we understand other fucked up people. If you've ever woken up some place you have sworn you've never been before.... If you given more than 2 eulogies in less than 6 months... If you have found yourself in an abusive relationship... If you have had any moment where you think to yourself, "This is so fucked but it's my life..." then you are part of the club. And Titus is a proud member of that club.

Going to one of his shows is like going to church, therapy, school and stand up all in one. Sometimes the things he says are so close to home, you laugh not to cry. Many times, I have wanted to jump up and scream "Hallelujah!" or "Yes! Exactly!". His stand up is brutal at times, taking bits from his sometimes tragic circumstances to stage, where his monologues stop and we all sit there in silence while he stands on stage, head bowed. Part of the act, yes, but poignant none the less.

Titus and me

After his shows, I feel exhausted, in a good way, like after a long run or a good cry. And even with all the shit that's rained down on him, he's still positive and ends with signs of happiness.

I've been a fan since I was a teen and over 10 years later I'm still coming to the shows. He's more than just a funny comic; for the damaged people (like myself), his shows are my proof that overcoming is possible.

So bring it on Professor/Dr./Pastor Titus. I'll see you at the next show.

God Save the McQueen

2011-05-01T08:29:00.000-07:00

I would kill for one of his dresses.

Well, I would definitely kick someone in the shins or cut in line. I would probably run though Times Square naked. I would definitely pay, if I had the money. (Will work for red feather strapless dress with white tulle underskirt.) He was new, shocking and so inspiring in a sometimes uninspired landscape. (Tommy Hilfiger, I'm looking at you.) His clothes were like stories, portals into a stories, into the bodies of characters. Never was there a boring piece. It was art.

Even if you don't follow fashion, you have probably seen his work. A blatant ripoff of a wonderful McQueen dress was featured in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (part 1), not to mention on the red carpet, covering Lady Gaga, Cate Blanchett, Michelle Obama, and if you've been keeping up with all the silly royal wedding madness, Katherine Middleton's wedding dress was based on a McQueen design.

For his 2004 ready-to-wear collection, instead of the standard runway, McQueen staged an extravaganza, reenacting "They Shoot Horses, Don't They?". Models and dancers started the show with exuberant dancing moves, and ending with a sole dancer, barely keeping her head up, then collapsing on stage. McQueen and the choreographer carried her off stage. Not only was the staging ingenious but the clothes themselves were beautiful and innovative.

I personally loved that he dress the common girl to the first lady. He had a line at Target a couple of years ago but also creates dresses that retail in the tens of thousands. And he knows and loves women. Now, you might want to argue that after seeing some of the contraptions he puts his models in but I would argue right back. You can't look at some of his beautiful dresses and say he doesn't worship our bodies. The chest-plated outfits and high collars, I argue, are statements, art speaking about changing our shapes via harshness. But that's just one girl's opinion.

In this month addition of Bazaar, close friend Annabelle Neilson wrote about "Lee" (his true given name) on the one year anniversary of his death. In the article, she seems still in shock about the whole thing, her retelling scattered and grief-stricken. She spoke briefly that he had promised her that he would never go the way of Isabella Blow.

Isabella Blow was a editor, style icon and muse for the fashion forward. She suffered from depression after the people she helped get started in the business left her behind, infertility and money issues, not to mention her ovarian cancer and bipolar diagnoses. She drank weed killer that finally ended her life but, according to Daily Collegian, before that she had attempted to do so by jumping off the Hammersmith flyover in London (breaking both her ankles), car accident, getting horse tranquilizers, drowning and overdosing on various pills. The woman was determined. And in the end, so was Alex.

Alexander McQueen meant something to me. It was as if he knew how I wanted to dress; the secret wish that I could be like the girls on his catwalk. They were romantic, tough, sexy, and highly strange. I would often see a dress and fall deeply in love with it only to find out that it was a McQueen. ("Of course it's a McQueen!" I would shout in the middle of the grocery store magazine aisle.) Dripping in style and never compromised, he never pussy footed around the concept. He was brave. And that's what I wanted.

I'll miss you, amazing designer, visionary and fabulous person.

The slings and arrows

2011-04-30T09:09:00.002-07:00

Why is it so hard to be loved?

Is it because we inherently don't feel we deserve it? Is it because you survived while others didn't? You're not as beautiful or full of light or whole as you used to be? Your baggage to too great to be vulnerable again with another human being? Or maybe we just hate ourselves.

I never thought myself as one of those idiots who's self loathing was so great that they would turn away from love, to run from the fear of it. But here I am. So caught up in my own insecurity, confusion, my desperate and pathetic need to please and the pain of rejection, distrust and judgment so great, I can't even move at times. Or breathe. Or see the room in front of me.

What's the answer? I think sometimes it's to let go, love recklessly, fall head first, even though there is a 100% guarantee that I'll end the night with a arrow though my reckless stupid head. And how many arrows can my head take? Do I ignore the hurtful things said just to be free of them? Do I shrug off more criticism so they can't weight me down?

If only I thought life was richer without love. But I know that to be untrue and can't ignore the possibility of a half lived life. I must navigate and find a way.

But if anyone has a map, a compass or even vague directions, I'll take them.

Hollyweird - Part One

2011-04-14T22:55:00.000-07:00

What ever happened to Baby Jane? Only this house knows. If you have never seen this movie, get it right now! Bette Davis was only about 54 when she made this film so you have got to give her credit for not being afraid to look like utter hell on camera. Joan Crawford played Bette sister and boy howdy, did they hate each other. Both were raging bitches in their own right but when put together really stirred up trouble. Bette put in a Coke machine in her room just to upset Joan, who held a seat at the Pepsi board of directors. During a scene where Bette was to drag Joan's near lifeless body, Joan put weights in her pockets and made herself so heavy Bette threw out her back. Me-ow! Not pictured is the home next door, which Judy Garland lived in while filming The Wizard of Oz.

Designed by Frank Lloyd Wright Jr. (also the inventor of lincoln logs and son of the famous architect) it's often referred to as the Jaws House. It was also home to Dr. George Hodel, who was one of a few suspects in the Black Dahlia murder case. Many think this is the house where Elizabeth Short was murdered then chopped up. Yum...

It used to be known as "The House That Nat Built", the Capitol Records Building has been a part of music history that can never be replaced. In '08, CBS broadcast a report that the legendary echo chambers, designed by Les Paul, could no longer be used because of construction noise from neighbors, although it's denied by those doing the noise making. It's said that the light on the rooftop spire of the Capitol Records building flashes "H-O-L-L-Y-W-O-O-D" in Morse code, but I'm not fluent.

The Chateau Marmont, the white house on the hill, has a torrid past. Led Zepplin road their motorcycles through the lobby. Bogart would work in the bungalow garden. Construction began in 1927 as apartments but when 1929 hit, it turned into a hotel. John Belushi died of a drug overdose in Bungalow #3. F. Scott Fitzgerald had a heart attack in the lobby. Grace Kelly hung by the pool. Jim Morrison hung off the side of the building by a drain pipe. Montgomery Clift recouped from his nearly fatal accident in one of the penthouses, rented for him by Elizabeth Taylor. Jean Harlow spent her honeymoon among the shadded trees and flowers. The place is just dripping in history, ghost stories and scars. One day, I'm going to stay there and maybe drive my mini cooper on the sidewalk... or something a little more rock and roll.

Follow the cute little bird tracks to the next installment of my long overdue trip to the darker side of LA.

Happy 137th!

2011-03-24T10:51:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday, Houdini!

So 137 years ago, little Erik Weisz was born in Budapest. (He claimed later that he was born in Wisconsin; this was perhaps to avoid anti-semitic and/or anti-foreign sentiment.) At 4, he traveled to the US with his mother and brothers. He grows, he astounds with great magical wonders, and then, before his time, he dies. (Due to peritonitis brought on by appendicitis being punched by some dumbass college kid, on Halloween, no less.)

Houdini's wife had a seance every year on Halloween to try and make contact until 1936, when Bess declared it would be her last. That didn't stop other magicians from picking up where she left off. Today, the annual seance is held at the Houdini Museum in Scranton, Pennsylvania. (Also famous for The Office and that's pretty much it...)

So in Harry's will, it stated that his brother was to get all of his personal belongings, including his very large magical memorabilia collection. Then, the will stated, after his brother's death, all of it was to be burned. Well, he kinda got his wish... But I digress. So Theodore didn't burn it, he stored it in a warehouse where it sat for some 40 years until it was auctioned off and was bought by a couple of entrepreneurs from Canada. They opened The Houdini Magical Hall of Fame and displayed the original Chinese Water Torture Cell, an extensive handcuff collection and posters from his magic displays, among other things. But in April 1995, it burned to the ground, destroying most of everything. So there. Houdini got his wish.

Another fun Houdini related story:
In 2002, Long Island resident Stephen Chotowicky called the police to report that his son in law had stolen some tools. The son in law proved that he didn't steal anything but out of spite, mentioned to the cops that his dear daddy in law had something they had been looking for. In 1983, the bust of Houdini was stolen from his gravesite, and he claimed that Stephen had it. So the police kick down the door and found not just the bust but also news articles about the theft to make a jaunty little shrine to the whole thing. And to jail he went!

He was handsome, talented and had a mind for magic like no one else had. So to you I raise my glass, Houdini! Happy 137th!

Sept. 13, 1944 - aka I've been reading too much WW2 history

2011-03-19T21:16:00.000-07:00

To my dearest,

Winter has come and it’s turned frigid. I long for our time together and your warm embrace. While you fight in savage lands, far away from me, I oft think of you. Is your work going well? Is the government working you too hard on these progressive projects? Are you lonely in your bunk at night? Do you think of me?

I am lonesome without you here with me. I have stopped having cocktail hours, even though you made me promise to continue without you; it’s too much to bear. After my day in town, I seem to only muster enough energy to read by the fire. I am distracted all day at the bakery, daydreaming of summertime, picnics on hilltops and bike rides in the country sides. My focus only becomes acute when I hear the radio with news. I know you have told me that you are not too close to the front lines but I still worry so.

Until that day, I humbly wait for you, bandaging young men’s wounds, baking bread for the wonderful people here and helping out the best I can. I will meet you in Paris on the day of liberation, which must be soon or I will dry up from all the tears I’ve shed missing you.

With all my love,

Pixie

Hollyweird, Hollywonderful

2011-03-05T09:09:00.000-08:00

Say what you want about Hollywood, I love it.

It's shallow, fake, full of itself. But I'm not interested in all that. I love the weird. The crazy mysteries and strange circumstances. The history! So many stories.

So last weekend, to soak up some of the weird during a less than exciting job interview, I ventured upon the Dearly Departed tour. Now I'm not a 'tour' kind of girl. I don't want to have the same experience/pictures as 10 other people who all have to share a bus. But life is short so I signed up and did I picked a good one!

Death, betrayal, broken hearts, love, hate, weddings, babies, theft, madness, nostalgia and fun all in one little van.

Join me, won't you? For the next few posts I will share the gruesome knowledge and creepy fun that is Hollywood!

Maybe they did see demons...

2011-03-01T01:04:00.000-08:00

Being a young girl in 1692 must have sucked.

There was little frivolity, no dating, little free time and defininatly no dancing naked in the woods. (What? You didn't do that when you were a kid?) Actually, even being an adult wasn't a barrel of monkeys either. Escaping from persucution tends to make one more fervent in the thing that makes you persucutable. They were dedicated and rightious. The puritans forbade dolls, toys, music, anything thought to be wasting time and even celebrating christmas. The only school was bible school and 3 hour sermans at least twice a week. To say some maybe have felt oppressed is a bit of an understatement. Some 'acting out' was bound to happen.

Two young girls in the settlement, Abigal and Betty, started to act strangely. They screamed, wailed, barked. They threw things around the room. They complained of being pinched and scratched. They would fall to the floor and freeze in a twisted position. They would speak gibberish and scream about demons. All around strange behavior for puritans. But an obvious answer to this insanity... no, not insanity. The devil. Oh, excuse me, I mean, THE DEVIL! (cue dramatic music, flip the lights on and off, gasp in apparent horror.)

So I'm sure you know this part that comes next. Lots of finger pointing, more fits, trial after trial. Then bad things.

Sidebar: I've known my fair share of preacher's daughters. They are rarely a complient bunch. At least one I've personally known has become a porn star. Well, of the online only variety, but I think that still counts. I obviously wasn't there in 1692 but if I know one thing, a repressed youth will react drastically if pushed hard enough.

Maybe they just wanted a little fun in their not-so-event-filled lives. Fun that lead to 20 deaths. But perhaps they weren't just being little brats; perhaps it was something no one thought of... mold.

Ergot. It's a type of fungi that grows on rye and related plants. They have a wide range of effect on humans, from circulation in the limbs to neurotransmission. Ok, that doesn't seem so scary... Well you would be wrong. Think blackened limbs, hallucinations (which leads to irrational behavior), and major and minor seizures. Did I happen to mention the severe uterine contractions? I know that makes me act like a severe bitch regardless of consuming ergot. Oh, and it's a analog to synthetic LSD. So there you go. Good reasons for the demons.

There have been lots of conflicting back and forth about this and who's to say what happened. Not me.

Perhaps the devil did make them do it.

O Christian Martyr Who for Truth could die
When all about thee Owned the hideous lie!
The world, redeemed from superstition's sway,
Is breathing freer for thy sake today.
--Words written by John Greenleaf Whittier

Red Flag Infraction

2011-02-28T23:19:00.000-08:00

I hate my wedding.

Me.

It hasn't even happened yet and I hate it. I have been through venue after venue. (estimating about 75+, actually visiting 10.) I have been to 6 cake places. I've been to 3 different bridal salons. I've made so many phone calls I've lost count. I've spent hundreds of hours on the computer researching, doing the math, calculating our budget, guest list, gathering pictures and deciphering themes. I have spreadsheets, pdf, psd, abc123. I've been on the hunt for wedding toppers, bouquet flowers, hair accessories, invitations, table toppers and shoes. I've read at least 5 different books front to back about planning my wedding. And after all of this, I've got NOTHING. Goose egg. Big fat zero. I'm farther away than when I began almost 4 months ago.

There are so many considerations, nay-sayers, exceptions, minimums, maximums, constraints, time limits, and special circumstances, that I can't even pick a napkin color without a red flag being thrown! I get nothing but why we can't, with no suggestions or ways to make it work.

And everyone has a damn opinion. My mother, who always has an opinion but gives it lightly, has flat out refused some of the decisions I have made. My friends have been no help with appointments or research. Wedding colors, venues, budgets, caterers and yes, even my beloved wedding dress, all have been shot down. All the while, my guest list gets bigger and bigger. I am all alone in this and I'm being crushed under the weight of it all.

I can barely remember those happy, warm, fuzzy kitten feelings I had at the beginning of all of this. "Yay! I get to pick whatever I want! I get to plan a big party for all the people I love most! Yay!" Sitting on a couch while my favorite music played, sipping a martini in a beautiful Galina wedding gown, while my favorite people relax and enjoyed themselves. Sounds lovely, doesn't it? Yes. Yes it really does. It did.

I just want to get married! I just want to marry the man I love the most in the whole world. Is that so hard? Yes. Apparently.

I'm so tired of it all I want to throw up my hands. I give up! You win! No dream wedding for me! No romantic happy moments for that girl! BAD! BAD BRIDE!

(Commence the throwing of rotten fruit at the girl in the white dress.)

Can you see my nipples through this nipple bra?

2011-02-26T12:38:00.000-08:00

I took this picture the other day at Victoria's Secret.

So much for that elusive secret...

Wedding purgatory

2011-02-06T17:17:00.000-08:00

I'm setting all the wedding stuff on fire.

Say bye bye rejected wedding favors (3.95 each) and aur revoir to left over wedding invites (2.00 each). Adios wedding mags and print outs and all the other crap that I though would be perfect. But then Aunt Milly thought my steampunk wedding invites were 'too depressing'. My mom thought that my first dress was too sexy so I took it back. (1940's floor length lingerie with hand sewn beading and applique.) We've changed the date to suit other people needs, changed venues and I'm tired of it.

I feel guilty tearing up all these expensive wedding magazines that my mother paid good money for but I need to do it. I am over it.

I mourn for the lose of my wedding. I hate to be a girl about it but it was something that I've been looking forward to since I was old enough to consider marriage and now I can never have it. Now, all I want is to be married.

I daydream not of my lovely wedding but of sitting in Europe with my husband, finally married, enjoying a coffee and people watching. Bring it on! Let's kick this pig! But not literally.

Escobar's Hippos

2011-02-01T22:59:00.000-08:00

Pablo Escobar was a dick.

Take my word for it. Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria wasn't just a drug lord and criminal. He was a giant asshole who did some pretty messed up things. And he had it all. In '89, Forbes ranked him 7th wealthiest person in the world. He offered to pay off Columbia's national debt on 10 billion. Cash. Cars. Girls. Hippos.

He was born Dec 1, 1949 to a peasant life. Hustling and jacking cars soon lead to work as a body guard then kidnapping for large ransoms. By his early 20s he was making millions and according to his brother, they spent $2,500 a month buying rubber bands to wrap the giant stacks of money. And when the 80's rolled around and a sudden and urgent need for cocaine enveloped the country, Escobar really made a killing. No, really. He assassinated political figures, judges and even blew up planes.

So far, drug dealer and murderer... Now add child rapist. At 26, he married at 15 year old girl. Then, we can add yet another asshole label to it all for what he did to his animals.

At some point in all this crazy, he bought 7 square acres of land and built an expanding compound. A mansion, pool, and a zoo. Giraffes, zebras, ostriches, camels, even an elephant. But we will get to all that soon...

After escaping prison, Escobar was shot on a rooftop whilst running from police. And that's where he died. A day after his 44th birthday, Colombian National Police caught up with him (and his bodyguard known as 'El Limon') and it all ended there. (technically, a shot to the ear ended it...) His family believes that when cornered, Escobar killed himself via a bullet through the ear. No one knows for sure.

Escobar's land was given to low income families and the rest was left to rot. The animals had been left to starve and many died of exposure. Except the hippos. They actually thrived. Normally, hippos are slow to reproduce. (Hence they are a vulnerable species and illegal to hunt.) Male hippos don't reach maturity until about 7 years old. Females only ovulate usually during the wet season and only ovulate again 1 1/2 after giving birth. But when in a hospitable environment with no enemies and little distraction, they multiply like rabbits.

4 hippos turned into 30 in as many years and they took over the compound. And that's where they are today. Hippos are aggressive and expensive to move and the Colombian government can't pay to have them shipped to a zoo. In the summer of '09, one hippo had to be put down after wandering off the compound and threatening to harm locals.

Don't you just love the idea of hippos sleeping in a million dollar mansion? I do. And I love a good example of nature taking over all things, eventually.

If you want to learn more about Escobar and his Scarface fame, check out "The Accountant's Story" written by his brother Roberto. Or check out the NYTimes article about the latest development here.

A sane man in an insane world

2011-01-26T23:55:00.000-08:00

Hope...

I'm sorry but I don't want to be an Emperor - that's not my business - I don't want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone if possible, Jew, gentile, black man, white. We all want to help one another, human beings are like that. We all want to live by each other's happiness, not by each other's misery. We don't want to hate and despise one another. In this world there is room for everyone and the earth is rich and can provide for everyone.

The way of life can be free and beautiful. But we have lost the way.

Greed has poisoned men's souls - has barricaded the world with hate; has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed but we have shut ourselves in: machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical, our cleverness hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little: More than machinery, we need humanity. More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost.

The aeroplane and the radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions cries out for the goodness in men, cries out for universal brotherhood for the unity of us all. Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world, millions of despairing men, women and little children, victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people. To those who can hear me I say "Do not despair".

The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress: the hate of men will pass and dictators die and the power they took from the people will return to the people and so long as men die, liberty will never perish...

Soldiers - don't give yourselves to brutes, men who despise you and enslave you - who regiment your lives, tell you what to do, what to think and what to feel, who drill you, diet you, treat you as cattle, as cannon fodder. Don't give yourselves to these unnatural men, machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts. You are not machines. You are not cattle. You are men. You have the love of humanity in your hearts. You don't hate - only the unloved hate. Only the unloved and the unnatural. Soldiers - don't fight for slavery, fight for liberty.

In the seventeenth chapter of Saint Luke it is written " the kingdom of God is within man " - not one man, nor a group of men - but in all men - in you, the people. You the people have the power, the power to create machines, the power to create happiness. You the people have the power to make life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure. Then in the name of democracy let's use that power - let us all unite. Let us fight for a new world, a decent world that will give men a chance to work, that will give you the future and old age and security.

By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power, but they lie. They do not fulfil their promise, they never will. Dictators free themselves but they enslave the people. Now let us fight to fulfil that promise. Let us fight to free the world, to do away with national barriers, do away with greed, with hate and intolerance. Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to all men's happiness.

Soldiers - in the name of democracy, let us all unite!

Look up! Look up! The clouds are lifting - the sun is breaking through. We are coming out of the darkness into the light. We are coming into a new world. A kind new world where men will rise above their hate and brutality. The soul of man has been given wings - and at last he is beginning to fly. He is flying into the rainbow - into the light of hope - into the future, that glorious future that belongs to you, to me and to all of us. Look up. Look up.

-Charlie Chaplin, The Great Dictator

The Dream Marriage

2011-01-26T01:59:00.000-08:00

A wish list for my marriage.

I wish to always be in love with my husband and our lives together.
I will wake up everyday and think about what I can do to make his day better.
I want to continue to learn something everyday and share that with my husband.
We will continue to travel and learn about history, culture and people in the world.
We will be healthy, happy and work together always.
We will do our best to listen to each other.
I will keep trying to make him laugh.
I will keep up my looks, even when I get wrinkly and saggy.
To accept that we aren't perfect but we are happy.

More as I think of them.

The Dream Wedding

2011-01-20T00:38:00.000-08:00

I wish I was more original.

I wish that I could be different and not want the things that are so cliche. So lame. So expected. But I'm sorry. I am the way I am. And I want to get married via lovely wedding.

I want a beautiful, meaningful wedding. Twenty of our closest friends and family join us for a very short secular ceremony. Then we have a tasteful and thoughtful cocktail reception. It's styled and lit. It has those little details people appreciate. Our guest can look around at our beautiful ceremony space and think how lovely it all is. I want to feel beautiful. My dress will be special and make me feel special for just one day. It will be stress-free enough that I can feel nothing but excited and happy to be marrying my dream fella. I'll just sit in my dress, drink a glass of champagne, and smile without worry about details, relatives or how much in debt we are for this one day. I get to be the prettiest girl in the room for one day in my whole life; the one day it's supposed to be about me.

I wish I would be ok with just running down to the court house. I wish we could just run off to europe and get married. I wish I didn't think those options were tacky and sad. (and that my mother would stab me if I did that...) I wish I didn't want this thing I've envisioned in my head since I was little. I wish I didn't care about a dress, a moment, a photo taken at a special moment.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't such a fucking girl. Fuck.

Russian Tea

2010-12-23T15:07:00.000-08:00

A gift for you.

My grandmother's birthday is today and in her honor, I'm sharing my favorite drink recipe of hers. This is a holiday staple at my house, even after the holidays were no longer welcome in my home...

2 cups sugar
2 cups Tang
1/2 tsp cloves
1/2 cup lemonade mix
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 cup instant tea

Mix together. Use 2 to 3 tsp per 8 oz hot water.

Yeah, a little red neck with the Tang but trust me, it's good.

Cake: the prefered food of celebration

2010-12-19T14:05:00.001-08:00

I have nothing against cake.

In fact, I've enjoyed cake quite a bit. Birthdays, bat mitzvahs, even the occasional 'yay you broke up with that asshole' cake. But after a knock down, drag out fight with not one, but two people about cake, I'm ready to swear it off. Forever.

mmmm, cake?

Both my mother and my husband-to-be feel that cake is necessary for our wedding celebration. I, on the other hand, feel it's too traditional and I would prefer something more fun. Like chocolate bacon. Seriously, two of the best things together at last?! Who would turn their nose up to that? No one, that's who. Or ice cream. Or chocolate bars. Or anything besides traditional cake.

My mother is usually appalled at me in general. I curse, throw my opinions around and generally shock her but this idea of mine was apparently over the line. We were having cake. Period. It's traditional, people expect it and she likes that cake at a local bakery where her friend works.

Fine. Let them eat cake. I informed her that I would be slipping out of the reception with my best friend for about 20 minutes to walk down the street to get an ice cream cone. Because that's what I want. (Because I'm the bride and it's my day... dammit.) This is when her head exploded. I won't go into details but there was lots of talk about my needing to be a grown up and how to be a hostess. It was like being 13 again. So I left my parents house in a huff, much like a 13 year old.

Now, my fiance is usually embarrassed by me in general. I'm loud, dress inappropriately and generally doing the wrong thing but this fight with my mom was apparently over the line. He sided with my mom! (Rookie mistake, right?) He thinks cake would be great and that if I happened to disappear to get an ice cream cone (on MY OWN wedding day) that it would be inappropriate.

And so, dearest evil minions, I impart on you this knowledge.

aka - inappropriate

The cake is a lie. It is neither celebratory or fun. It is yelling at me and filled not with butter cream, but with shame.

Go, my pretties, and get some ice cream, don't share, and just be happy if you don't balloon up like Ricky Lake. Do it for me! I'll be 60 stories up, looking down at you in my wedding dress and a plate with cake on it, dreaming of pistachio and waffle cones.

The Big Question

2010-11-26T16:41:00.000-08:00

So there I was.

I was at a lower point in my life. No job, career shot, no home, depressed and even my sex drive was suffering. But even though I was a pathetic case if ever there was one, The Mad Scientist asked me to join him in Atlanta for a little get away. We would drive down to Savannah and enjoy a long weekend togetther.

I was nervous about being in Savannah again. I had gone there with my family as a child many times for vacation and I was afraid it would bring back those happy/sad memories of growing up with my brother. (There's nothing like crying in public to make me want to throw myself in a river...) I was doing surprisingly well. The weather was perfect, the leaves were just starting to change and I was loving being so close to the ocean.

Savannah is a beautiful town. Established in 1733, it was originally a progressive, multicultural hub, until the British fixed that by making it a colony and stripping rights from many of it's citizens. (the jews, spanish, etc) During the Civil War, instead of burning Savannah to the ground like he did Atlanta, Gen. Sherman sent President Lincoln a telegram, 'giving' him Savannah as a Christmas present. The town features 22 historic squares, which doesn't sound too exciting but I must insist you visit as many as you can. They are shaded, beautiful areas, usually quiet and if you find yourself alone, surrounded by looming trees, perhaps a statue or fountain, historic french-american architechture just beyond, you feel like you've stepped back in time. It was beautiful and I was feeling rather peaceful amoung the ghost and history.

After a quick bite on our first day, we went for a walk along the Savannah River. We were watching the people and cargo ships go by, when TMS decided to do something drastic.

He asked me if I would marry him.

At the one of the lower points in my life, playing the part of a pretty big loser, he still wanted me for his... it's a pretty amazing thing. That, and the fact that he's the most wonderful man I've ever known, I love him more than ice cream, movies, dance and disneyland combined (and then some), it was a no brainer. I said yes.

Mine looks different but you get the picture

So I'm engaged! We're getting married sometime next fall and then a continued life of bliss.

I'll try not to turn this blog into a giant wedding blog but I will talk about it. I don't apologize. Just shut up and enjoy the ride.

Because really, that's all that life is...

Toys

2010-11-24T22:19:00.000-08:00

Any headstone that blows bubbles wins my approval

I've been thinking about the movie Toys a lot lately.

Not sure why. It wasn't that great of a movie. Kind of creepy and without focus.

Robin Williams, Joan Cusak and Michael Gambon aka the new Dumbledore or Baltus in Sleepy Hallow(side note: was Baltus the one who got the picket fence through his chest and pulled from the church to have his head cut off?). Don't forget LL Cool J and Jaime Fox and the lovely Robin Wright before the 'Penn' was added and will surely be removed again.

I think the bright and strange images, taken/inspired from Rene Magritte, make me feel comforted or something. And that even though it's whimsical (the movie and his paintings), tragedy still occurs. (Rene witnessed his mother's body being pulled from the river after her suicide when he was a boy; this might have influenced some of his later paintings.) I tend to like the paintings without the massive harsh shadows better but I dig all of them.

I keep thinking about the scene at the beginning of the movie, where the children are burying their father. The rolling green fields and at the top of the hill, a beautiful stone elephant that blows bubbles. If I were to be buried, I would want that.

And the swan bed that his sister sleeps in is so something from a dream. Although, if they closed the top, I might have a bit of clausterphobia and claw my way out. "Oh GOD the walls are closing in on me! HELP! The giant swan is KILLING ME!"

Regardless, the movie was ok, the paints were great and I still like them both. So there.

What? Twinkies?

2010-11-12T09:44:00.000-08:00

I don't eat them.

Well, not anymore. But as a child, my grandma would go to the Hostess store and buy several boxes of sweet treats for our arrival for summer. My brother and I would eat the chocolate covered hockey pucks wrapped in foil(Ding Dongs), plastic wrapped chocolate rolls(Ho-hos) and soft yellow cake logs. They remind me of happier times. I think if I had to eat one now, I may not be able to keep it down. Ug. But they're facinating never the less!

They were birthed in Illinos during the early years of The Great Depression. Originally filled with banana cream, Twinkies were hit by the WW2 when bananas were rationed. The switch to vanilla creme was so popular, they never switched back.

They are made from corn by products, emulsifiers, shortening, flavoring and a few other scientific ingredients before they are baked in the ovens. After a shot of filling, off they go to their respective homes. (Whether they be in a deep frier, random recipe or straight into your mouth)

President Clinton put one in a time capsule, people make wedding cakes from them and the American Society of Media Photographers used it as its main source in the Object Show. But they won't survive a nuclear blast or last for 25 years. (More like 25 days.)

500 million are eaten every year so odds are, you have had one yourself... Now, don't you feel like you're part of something bigger than yourself?

Birthday thoughts

2010-10-24T21:40:00.000-07:00

Getting old sucks.

I was never one of those kids that couldn't wait to grown up. I wanted to be little forever. And why not? Nap time, snack time, play time... And life was perfect when mom made mac and cheese for dinner and you could watch TGIF on ABC.

And getting older, even with the perks of driver's license and boyfriends and independence, isn't always fun. I have noticed that my body can't handle the stress it used to. When all I eat is chocolate and coffee, I get fatter. I can't stay up all night without DIRE consequences. I'm no longer flexible and my energy level is on the ground most of the time.

The older you get you have to look at your life and start to make decisions. I bought and sold my first house in 2 years. What now? Should I start over again? Should I get married? What about babies? (and I can't wait too much longer for children, to keep the risk low for healthy mom and baby...) I need to take better care of myself; it's not like when your younger and can skip those doctor appointments. Dentists, gynos, doctors ....plastic surgeons???

Mostly I hate turning one year older because this will be another year I get older than my brother. We were born 18 months apart. He's still 21 and get older every year. That is the true motherfucker of it all.

And I mean that.

Fuck me, that sucked...

2010-10-09T16:48:00.000-07:00

I must be fucking depressed because I am not funny anymore!

Not that I was all that funny before, as far as you people are concerned. (I think I'm a laugh riot...) But fuck! I'm tired of holding back and things are getting much too real around here.

Did you READ that last post?! My-LANTA, that sucked!

I've got to laugh or I'm going to die.

Are you laughing now, bitches?!

From Park Ave to just the park

2010-10-09T16:37:00.000-07:00

So this is what being homeless is like.

Worry not, gentle reader. I am not scruffy or unwashed as of yet. I always find a place to lay my head. I live out of my car, true, but I don't sleep there. I still eat 3 square meals a day and get a hot shower every day. Thank G-d for my friends and family. I spend much of my time trying to network up a job, scowering the internet and sitting in the park.

A truly homeless person came up to me while I was sitting in the park, reading. I held back the urge to scream, "Can't you tell I'm one of you?!" Instead, I hand her a dollar. Enjoy you're tall boy, ma'am. I'll be here, not regretting that decision later.

I have good days and bad days. Today is good. The weather is nice and I sold a bunch of my clothes and got a sweaty wad of cash for it so I'm celebrating with an ice cream cone.

I'm just going to sit here and watch my old life disappear.

Harry Potter is my best friend

2010-10-01T15:29:00.000-07:00

As of late, I have had much trouble sleeping; the homelessness and uncertain future does that to you.

I lay awake for hours, mind racing, heart racing... pretty much every part of me racing around the room but my legs. (And even they twitch a little) So I sleep quite poorly, get up and disparage about my situation, then fall into a bed, where ever that may be, and stare at the ceiling some more. After about a week, things start to get weird.

I burst into tears for seemingly no reason. The shadows move. Lights are too bright, noises too loud and I sit in the middle of all of it and pray for a zombie apocalypse. And I'm a real bitch. Who wouldn't be after no sleep for a week? No one, that's who.

So last weekend, after a big fight with TMS, I find myself feeling like shit about myself and my situation, running on fumes, no sleep for 3 days and trying to fall asleep while fucking Seinfeld plays on the tv. Every time someone started doing that ever so charming 'whining-escalating-into-yelling' thing, I though my head was going to pop off my body.

I excused myself and tiptoed downstairs to have myself a bit of a cry. I sat on the floor and ate crackers and cried about the sorry state of me. If I had been an art piece, my title could have been, "Plathetic Mess, in C Minor". ("C Minor" lends it some credibility, don't you think?)

The sleep timer finally killed the tv and I ventured upstairs again, full of crackers and shame. I stared at the spots on the ceiling, thought about ice cream flavors I wanted to invent, trying not to collapse yet again into weepy sadness. That's when I roll over and spot my ipod on the bedside table.

I hope he's legal in the picture...

I put on book 4, curled up, and forgot the rest of the world. I escaped into a world of purpose, fantasy and safety. As I listened to the brilliant Jim Dale, I drifted off. Finally.

So because he's a roll model for kids, he's entertaining escapism and he finally got me to sleep, I declare Harry Potter is my best friend.

Besides, who doesn't want a friend who looks like this? No one, that's who.

Mandatory Sex Party

2010-09-22T22:21:00.000-07:00

I'm not all that funny.

Other people are much better at that than I am. I'm just here in my world, writing about whatever the hell I want. Sometimes it's humorous, other times, not so much.

Allie is fucking funny. Not just normal, "haha I'm going to forward this to my great aunt who enjoys a clever post with pictures of cats" kind of funny. FUCKING funny.

I fully encourage you to stop reading this dreck and go to http://www.hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/ right now and read her posts until you laugh so hard you pee yourself, like I've been doing all this week. I'd be mad at her for making me pee in public constantly but she is just too funny. I can't stay mad.

I literally got shushed by a little old lady in the library today because the latest post threw me into a giggle fit that I could not escape. I promptly flipped her off and lit her computer on fire. Just kidding Nanna, I would never...

And because she's makes me pee, I'm joining the grassroots movement of the mandatory sex party. Oh, you don't know what that is? Let me help you.

Definition:

"A party where once you walk in the door, you are obligated to have sex. I would think that these parties often disguise themselves as costume parties or birthday parties or baby showers but THEN as soon as they entice people in the door, they are all "guess what this actually is? It's a mandatory sex party, bitch!"

You're welcome.

PS-Sorry for being so late to join the fun Allie.
PSS - There are no good pictures to put in this post. I am not a porno site and googling anything with the word sex in it for good pictures doesn't yield anything worth posting. So here's a picture of a chipmunk spider.

I'm cute and scary!

That's the trouble with love...

2010-09-09T12:30:00.000-07:00

...sometimes pets don't last long enough and sometimes people last too long...

Perhaps I'll run away and join the circus...

2010-09-03T15:01:00.000-07:00

I could be a trapeze artist. Or not.
If you read this blog, you know I have love for my fellow circus freaks. But it's not so much about the circus I'm focusing on, but the running away part.

When I feel down and I can't think of any way to make myself snap out of it, I daydream about running away. I want to run off to a small southern town where no body knows me. Some place quiet and slow where I can pretend I'm someone else. I could be Aubry Little of Arkansas. My whole family died in a horrible cow-related accident and I came to their faire town to begin again. Then after winning the local beauty pagent, establishinga dog and cat reserve program and whan all he men had fallen in love with me, I would pack up and leave in teh middle of the night. I would leave a note saying that I was sad to go but I had to leave and I would come back some day.

And maybe I would.

Paul and The Open Relationship

2010-08-29T08:43:00.000-07:00

I must be a sadist.

I must just love to torture myself and make myself feel all icky and awful inside. Why, you ask, my dear readers?

I ran into a high school aquintence last week. Normally I cringe at seeing people from my old salt mine but this particular person was kind and sweet person that I had known off and on during my youth so no crinding was had. We chatted for a few moments and she asked me if I still talked to Paul, my first boyfriend. At that comment, I did cringe. And shutter. And I felt a little bit like throwing up. She told me she ran into him working some meanial job in a coffee shop and he looked stoned, like he had been up all night. She friended him on facebook and said she was a little shocked to find him posted as "In an Open Relationship".

(I have to note she told me he was listed as both interested in "Men and Women". I never knew him to be 'interested' in men. But that was some time ago. I guess that's a whole other blog...)

Let me also note, this guy messed me up. Hardcore. The mind games, lies, the disappointments, the times he left me all alone on a street corner or at a party, the times he forgot me, the other girls... so many girls. I was played and everyone knew and didn't tell me. I was the fool, the joke of everyone. He was/is a true sociopath. And for those that think I'm illiterating, not this time. He literally had a "pervasive pattern of disregard for, and violation of, the rights of others..." (taken from the APA) It basically means, in his case, a lack of empathy, irresponsibility, disregard for social norms and rules, lacking a feeling of guilt for wrong doing, and blaming others for their situations. Throw in some massive maniplations and charisma and that is Paul. There is no treatment that has been found effective yet. His parents had sent him to a shrink some years ago but it didn't take.

Never in my life have I been more humiliated, hurt and angry about a relationship. I heard he had been working at a sandwhich shop I had visited a few months ago and the idea that we could have been in the same building make me have a small yet alarming panic attack. It's a pain that I have yet to work through.

But I digress. My high school friend and I begain to discuss the idea of an open relationship. She thought them to be a total farce, a lie girls would tell themselves or was told to them by the boyfriends/husbands that can't keep it in their pants. I countered that it isn't always the case. There are some people that really feel that they can love more than one. I think there are some who can pull that off. I don't think it ends well most of the time though.

I told her thought that it seems obvious that in Paul's case, the idea of an open relationship is mearly a ploy some poor girl was talked into so that he could have free reign of any of the girls he wanted without losing this one girl. That's what he did to me. I hope for this girl's sake, I'm wrong and she wants this open relationship as much as he does.

Even a one time only extra partner, even one agreed upon by both people, rarely ends well. I know I'm not one of those people that can have my husband, boyfriend, whomever, sleeping with someone else for any reason and be 'ok' with it... But that's me.

Things ended with Paul quietly. I was moving to New York and decided it was a good time to break away since I couldn't seem to find a way to do it while still living so close to him. He fought to keep me but only a little. After he stopped calling, he sent me an email saying he was dating someone with my same name.

I'm going to be truthful and say the thing you're not supposed to say: I used to wish him harm. I used to have fantasies that he would be hit by a car and while lying in the hospital, his brains rescrambled, rewired to feel empathy, guilt, love, finally realized what he had done to all the people in his life he had screwed over. His parents, whom he had stolen, lied and scammed over and over. His friends whom he manipulated into doing the things he wanted. And all the girls that he lied to, hurt, said that they were the only ones. All without a shred of guilt or empathy for those he hurt. Or sometimes I would just fantasize about him just getting hit by a car.

Even though those thought sometimes creep into my head when his name is brought up, I mostly pity him now. Pity that he will never know true love. Pity that no one with any self respect can love him. Pity that he will forever be search for that something missing within him, a kind a fullfillment that will never come. And as I understand it he spends his time searching through drugs, young girls and escape on trips with his father's money.

I'll hang on to my empathy and monogomy, thanks.

My love affair with the burrito

2010-08-18T14:23:00.000-07:00

I'm in love.

With no man or beast (minds out of the gutter please...) but with an inanimate object. An edible object of maximum and overwhelming deliciousity. I am, of course, speaking of Chipotle.

I want to be clear: this is not an advertisement. Not that I would turn down any money Chipotle wanted to give me being that I'm homeless now... I don't wear logo shirts or carry Louis Vuitton bags for the same reason. If I'm not being paid, why would I advertise for you? But for this, I gladly debase myself for the pure pleasure that is The Burrito.

My order is a chicken burrito with mild tomato salsa, pinto beans, lettuce, cheese, sour cream and a side of chips to which I then eat like taco salad. It's love wrapped in a warm, soft tortilla. It's total perfection. It's lunch and dinner because I'm so damn full I couldn't eat anything else.

Sure, it's about a 1000 calories of tasty variety of joyous flavors but you gotta take a hit to get that glorious yumminess in you tummy. I skip breakfast, no snacks, go for a run or all of the above just to get my hands on my one true love. (That's burrito love... I still love you most, TMS! Don't be so jealous.)

For the longest time, our love was secret. I didn't tell any of my friends about our afternoon rendezvous. They would ask, "Why aren't you hungry? Have some of my goulash..." or "You're never hungry; do you hate my goulash?" I couldn't tell them that I wolfed down any entire burrito by myself just moments before. (Or that their goulash sucks.) This dainty chick who scoffs at fast food was in love with a food that was delivered quite fast. I would sneak the brown bag with my stash into my room, bolt the door and just bask in the glow of my perfectly made burrito. But now, everything is different. I'm coming out.

I'm here to say, no, shout it to the heavens! I love Chipotle and I don't care who knows!

Me.

2010-08-10T03:31:00.000-07:00

This is me.

I'm not an idealized version of myself or a plastic doll. I'm not faking it to manipulate you to get what I want. It's not a game.

I am an intelligent, beautiful woman. I thank G-d for my many blessing. I have a wonderful home, great family, the best friends. I also forget to brush my teeth some nights and I don't wash my hair everyday. I laugh at dick jokes. I swear to make a sailor blush. Sometimes, I buy a moonpie and eat it while I sit on the hood of my car. I have muffin top.

I love the theater. Opera, musical, avaunt garde. I frequent many gallery openings. I've had season tickets to the symphony, donated to my city's arts council and attended my share of charity events. I also go to the state fair and eat corn dogs, ride the roller coasters until I'm dizzy. I like to watch cartoons and eat cereal in my pajamas, the ones with flamingos and beach balls. And I think Totino's pizza is the best drunken snack food ever.

My library is full of classics, new and old. I have 1st editions, volumed sets. I also have Vanity Fair photo books, true crime books and beach reads. I read the New York Times and fashion blogs. I love comics.

I can talk your ear off about WW2 history, the American circus, art, film and almost everything about animals. I can also tell you about James Dean's last meal before he crashed his Porche Spyder or who 'Brangelina' is. I can make you a light and crispy croquette. Or a white trash casserole. I'd be happy with either one.

I spent money at the nicest places in the world: Hermes, The Wynn, haute coutor in Paris and ridiculous extravagance all over. I also buy toilet paper at Target.

I do my yoga almost everyday and watch what I eat. I love my healthy body. But sometimes I smoke and drink hard liquor, stay out too late.

It's called contradiction. Enigma. It's not logical and sensible. I don't care.

I'm well read, educated and thoughtful. And sometimes the things that come out of my mouth are plain stupid. I get drunk and say things I shouldn't. I mispronounce words and sometimes I stutter. I've been rude, crude and embarrassing at times. I get overwhelmed, depressed and angry sometimes. I make mistakes. Because I'm human and I'm not perfect.

I'm not apologizing and I'm not afraid.

It's just who I am. I love me. And I love you too, with all your quarks and flaws. I won't pick and choose which ones I want to keep and which ones to toss. You can keep them all and I'll love you no matter what.

We are perfect.

10 things to be happy about

2010-08-03T17:07:00.000-07:00

Time for some positive vibes up in this bitch...

1. Recipes
Sure I'm flat broke but I'm making these freakin' recipes. One for some kind of insane jalapeno popper DIP (liquid poppers?! yes please.) and oatmeal served in a pumpkin!! I like food that's served in another food.

2. Bread
I'm not allowed to have bread. It's carby and delicious and I can't stop eating it. But today, I ate warm-from-the-oven, fresh, handmade bread that TMS made and I don't feel bad at all. Fuck you carbs! I'm eating pure home made love...

3. Chipotle
See my previous post about this one. The Chipotle Post

4. http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/
Hot damn, that girl is F-U-N-N-Y. So funny, she makes me spell. I sit there and giggle to myself and when The Mad Scientist asks me what's so damn funny, I read out loud about raping Orks and show him the stick drawings while I laugh so hard I actually drool on myself.

5.The Compliment
TMS told me that I'm beautiful when I smile and I should smile more. Perhaps I should.

6. Arts and Crafts
Yes, I am making a holiday wreath out of toilet paper rolls and spray paint! Thanks for noticing! ...it is beautiful, isn't it?

7. My best friends
I didn't have real friends as a non-child until I was 21. I was pretty much friendless from 13 on. That's a long time when you're a kid. That's why I have so much love and appreciation for my friends now. They have done things for me that no one else has ever done. They constantly go above and beyond the call and for that, I love them always.

8.Reading Time
Now that I find myself unemployed, I have a lot of time on my hands. Regardless, I am grateful for my extra reading time. You know how you always say to yourself, "If I had more time, there are so many things I want to read..." Well sometimes that comes true in the worst way. But that doesn't make the reading any worse. "Something Wicked This Way Comes" is so wonderful to read with the weather turning cold and the leaves changing.

9.Ice Cream
I find it a bit disturbing that 3 out of the 10 things are food. No wonder I feel like a load. But I digress. Gelato, frozen yogurt, it's all ice cream to me. It's cold, sugary and on a cone and I don't give a good damn if it's 12 degrees out. Gimme!

10. Sex
It's biological... it just makes you feel good. As long as it's not the dreaded 'bad sex', which is pretty rare as long as you're careful, you can't help but feel better about things.

So fuck you negitivity. Happy. Take that.

Out on a limb, on fire, over a shark pool

2010-07-18T08:04:00.000-07:00

I am not a child.

I'm not sure if I've divulged my age... I don't intend to but if you have figured it out, you know I'm old enough to drink, rent a car, do almost all things except maybe apply for my AARP card.

I have been taking care of myself for many years and now I find myself in a unique and upsetting situation. I'm selling my home. I've run out of viable options, my liquid funds are depleted and I will not borrow from friends or family. It's time to cut my loses. I've started packing up my belongings, selling most of it, donating some. My entire life will be in storage in 30 days.

I've been taking care of myself for a while and now I'm without a home and faced with daunting options... move in with my friends, my boyfriend, or my parents. I've regressed quite a bit and I don't like it.

It's hard to get up some mornings. It's even harder to fall asleep. I cry so easily and my sense of humor has gone down the tubes. I'm not fun to be with anymore.

I had this wonderful life, independent and free. I did as I wanted, shared my happiness with the world. Was my hubris at fault? Was I just too happy that the gods had to reign down over me? My world is crumbling ruins and the rest of the world laughs and moves on without me.

This must bring something better. This must be a trial before something greater and more interesting. So I'll sleep at Nico's villa for a few nights. Then a few nights with the Mad Scientist. Then maybe a few with my parents. But sooner or later, something wonderful is going to happen.

It has to.

70 years

2010-06-14T10:42:00.000-07:00

Today, Paris fell.

Well, 70 years ago today. But think of it…

The Germans marched into the city. Can you imagine what that would be like? You are sitting there, having a cup of coffee in your kitchen, reading a book and you look up to see armed men in jeeps coming down the street. Sure, you had heard the fighting was close and people were nervous but here they are, in the flesh, in your hometown. Some people cheered, other cried, many fled.

German tanks rumbled past the Arc de Triumph. Shops are closed, preparing for the worst. Some windows are boarded up along the streets. Some attempted to continue to fight but yesterday an agreement was reached between Petain and the Germans to cease hostilities. Petain thought he was saving his people from more violence but he will be later tried for treason due to his ‘cavorting’ with the enemy. (Although sentenced to death, De Gaulle commuted his sentence to life in prison, which is where the WW1 hero would die.) Others who ‘cavorted’ with the Germans had to pay the price in the end too. Girls who had Nazi ‘boyfriends’ had their heads shaved and were paraded into the streets. Businesses who worked with the Germans had their windows broken and were looted. But this won’t happen for another 5 years or so.

By now, the Louvre has been closed, the art all packed up and shipped to different corners of the country, even the world, for safe keeping. “Winged Victory” pulled from the top of the staircase she presided over and sent away. The Mona Lisa was sent by ambulance to its new hiding place in the countryside. All that is left is empty frames leaning up against the bare walls.

In a few weeks the Battle of Britain begins. St. Paul’s Cathedral will be a hair’s breath away from burning down into a pile of rubble. Thousands of citizens will die by bombing/fire, traffic and household accidents from the blackout and the nations failing health from years of stress and rations.

America won’t enter the war for another year and a half.

Makes me thankful for my warm lunch sitting in front of me (ironically a bento of Japanese rice, pickles and chicken kabobs with green tea). Thankful for a good nights sleep. To live without the fear of my family being killed in a bombing during the night or living in an occupied nation. I don’t have to worry about my next meal. It’s also a reminder that life it too short.

It’s time to do something about that.

MM&MC forever

2010-06-10T23:19:00.000-07:00

I'm in love with this.

I don't know why. I love every single second of this photo. Every detail is perfect.

The perfect moment.

Daydream believer

2010-06-08T21:42:00.000-07:00

I catch myself daydreaming more and more lately.

I think I need a vacation.

Time for a change kiddies. Much like the shell shocked British circa 1944, I'm doing the Holiday at Home.

Nothing but cocktails and roses come Friday. Because if I don't, I may collapse in on myself like a dying star.

Keep calm and carry on!

Francesca Lia Block

2010-05-24T21:50:00.000-07:00

Dear Francesca,

I was alone. Dropped into another new school, another new place that I was scared and without a familiar face. I wandered the library instead of eating lunch. I couldn't stand everyone watching me eat.

They say, never judge a book by it's cover. But I do. I saw a book's spine, lime green and purple. And the cover of a beautiful girl with big eyes and dark hair. Thus began my first love affair, at the tender age of 13.

The books followed my life, or maybe I followed the books. But no matter my age or experience, I knew these books were my home.

When you wrote about River in "Primavera", the images you wrote stuck in my head. Tiny fluffy little feathers growing from his head. I don't know why it was burned into my 14 year old brain. I didn't know, until my grandmother got sick. The cancer had spread to her brain and she had lost her hair again. She took off her scarf and it was then I understood. That image, burned into my psyche, was right in front of me. It had prepared me. My tiny Granny, with tiny feathery fuzz on her tiny skull.

When you wrote about the great friendship in the opposites in "Violet and Claire", I longed for a friend. Someone to talk to and drag on adventures with me and be a girly girl with. My 15 year old self could not image it ever happening. (Because at 15, you think that life will always suck like this...) But my first year of college, I saw a beautiful girl with black hair reading "Girl Goddess 9". (I was reading "I Was A Teenage Fairy") And I had found a best friend.

I have found myself at parties and clubs, places that I knew I shouldn't be. Needles and sex too young and sad sad girls. I thought back to Claire and Laurel. I always left before it got bad. I knew what was gonna happen. Then I read Baby Bebop and I knew that I would never be able to hate someone because they loved the same sex. I would campaign for gay rights and try never to judge someone with hate in my heart. The insightful 16 year old.

I chased my own bass playing, long haired Angel Juan, until I too realized I had to let him go. Mine never came back but now that I'm older, I know I am so much better off. I was stronger without him. I was 18.

And when my brother died, and I felt like I had died too, I packed my bags. I had to leave and didn't have time to think. I just started grabbing things. I packed 5 shirts, 1 pair of jeans, no underwear. But right before I left for my parents house, I ran back into my living room and grabbed a handful on your books. Weetzie and Laurel and Barbie and Echo and everyone else kept me company. (Weetzie actually came with me to the funeral, in my purse next to my eulogy.) Everyone one of them had been through pain and made it through beautiful and whole again at the end. It gave me hope.

Now that I'm much older, I fill my house with flowers and tea and love, as much as I can. I make and bake and work hard. And I have a feeling that I wouldn't be who I am without you! And when I'm sad, when I feel there is no more magic left in the world, I sit out on my porch, drink an Orangina, watch the birds play and read one of your books.

One day, I will be in California and will attend one of your classes or book readings or signings. And instead of telling you all this in person(because it would be too weird and complicated) I will just smile and thank you and I hope you will know that you changed my life.

love love love and glitter,
CD

My Brain sings...

2010-05-14T15:36:00.000-07:00

I'm just dancin' and singin'....
I'm singing in the rain
Just singing in the rain
What a glorious feeeeeelin'
I'm happy again!
I'm laughing at clouds
So dark up above
The sun's in my heart
And I'm ready for loooooove

Let the stormy clouds chase
Everyone from the place
Come on with the rain
I've a smile on my face
I walk down the lane
With a happy refrain
I'm dancin', and
Singin' in the raaaaain

*Hands umbrella to older gentleman walking by and continues to dance down the lane*

Love and Marriage

2010-05-01T19:32:00.000-07:00

Johnny Johnny Johnny... I'm so disappointed.

We argued in the middle of a Taco Bell about marriage, engagement and social rolls in America. Now ignore the fact that I'm actually IN a Taco Bell and just be secure in the knowledge that I did NOT eat anything from said establishment. (I would rather die... and I might have.)

On a Sunday afternoon, John got a hankering for a beef and cheddar heart attack so I reluctantly joined him to simply remain in his company. I innocently asked how things with his girlfriend, Sylvia, were going. He said things were great and he was thinking about maybe getting married. "That's amazing! Have you bought a ring yet?!" I exclaimed, in pure joy for my friend finding someone to whom he was willing to make a lifelong commitment. Instead of a smiling back, his face dropped into a perplexing somber affair.

"An engagement ring?", he asked with pure loathing in his voice.

He went on a 10 minute long rant about how the idea of an engagment ring is sexist and insulting to any woman he would marry. It hints at ownership. (I argued so does a wedding ring) Why does the woman only get a ring? Can't a man have an engagement ring too? (I said yes, if that's important to you) And why not a engagement tiara or engagement stilettos? (because an engagement tiara probably couldn't be worn at all times like a ring.)

I understand. I get it. Society says we must buy a ring; why should we yield? I could say the exact same thing about that flat screen in your living room. Do you really need 72 inches of TV when you don't even have cable? Why do you paint your walls or coordinate your furniture? Why buy anything from a mall? Why do you reluctantly recycle when you don't really believe it does anything for the environment? Why do you wear pants but never a skirt? Because it's in your head since you were born, that's the way it should be. Perhaps society does tell us we must do these things but we do them because we want to, really.

If he really doesn't want to buy an engagement ring, he doesn't have to. I told him Sylvia will be disappointed, perhaps only a little, but disappointed no less.

It is a symbol, regardless of what society says. A symbol of love, that he treasures me above all other. Whether is be a diamond, sapphire, or hunk of safety glass from a broken windshield, I'll know he chose that something special for me, to signify his love and commitment. To celebrate our new life together.

We get to pick and choose what tradition we want and that fit our lifestyles. It's like how I don't celebrate Christmas, even though society seems to demand that I do. How my lesbian friends live together as a married couple with their children even though that is not how it's traditionally done. And Johnny, if you want to not do the engagement ring, that's up to you. But I just want you to think about this: is this situation really about you and your ideals, or is it about making her beam and glow with happiness, not only when you get down on one knee, but every time she looks down and sees it on her hand? Would you deny her that if she really wants that?

But really, none of that matters, because for a girl like me (and Sylvia), it all come down to this... I want my moment. I want that moment where it's just like the movies. As little girls, we dream about many things. Driving our own car, getting a career we love, getting married. And not too many little girls imagine that the proposition to marriage comes with an empty velvet box and a "Let's get married" thrown commonly over one's shoulder. I WANT romance. I WANT a little dramatic flare during one of the most romantic times in my entire life. I WANT something special that is only for me, something that I will wear for the rest of my life. Something that will remind me again and again of that perfect moment, the romance and happiness. When the entire world melted away and it was just the two of us.

Nothing was resolved that day, as is typical. I'm not sure anything has ever been resolved at Taco Bell. But he said he would think about it. I think he heard me.

Things I learned in Paris

2010-04-19T15:40:00.000-07:00

It was like a dream.

Monday I decided that I needed Paris, or it needed me and by Friday I was on a flight. Now on the eve of another trip, I recall my first visit and what I gleened from my experience.

-One must SLOW DOWN to enjoy certain things. Way down.
-(some) French men are hot, but wasted because of the poor attitude...
-Walking is good. Great. Fabulous. Something that makes you feel alive when you walk out and breath in a little Paris smog, french bread and coffee.
-Maybe it was because I was only there for a short time, but the French: not so evil!
-I don't miss the days when you could smoke anywhere in America...
-I found that my art appreciation class actually came in handy and that I yearn to know more about the art that shapes our lives.
-Modern art can be annoying.
-Graveyards can be great!
-French kissing in public... not so hot.

But mostly, I am just nobody; a small fish in a big pond. I should get what I can out of this life and ENJOY IT! Because when you're not looking, life will pass you by.

Quick poem from a desparate girl

2010-04-15T15:11:00.000-07:00

Just a little reassurance.
A little kiss.
A love rant, tug at me and make me clear of mind.
Just pin me up, push me into the wall, make me.

Can't you feel me?

Holy Mother Church

2010-04-03T17:16:00.000-07:00

The Catholic Church makes me want to die.

So much for "holy mother church"...mother left to go get more liquor and left junior with Chester the child molester. Oh, but Chester didn't mean to be bad, so let's pay off mommy and get him a job at a FRIGGIN DAYCARE CENTER!

It's beyond comprehension that people can get away with this kind of behavior simply because they are fake 'men of G-d'. I run a red light, I get a ticket. I don't pay my taxes, the feds come and get me. I mess around with children, you bet your Aunt Betty I'm in prison faster than you can say, "Don't drop the soap".

I don't know what the answer is. I do know though that the answer involves some kind of justice for the victims. What kind of justice, you ask? Anything these survivors want. Let your imagination run wild.

Fufu Bunny and the Almost Dead Girl

2010-03-20T21:06:00.000-07:00

There's a girl speeding down I-69 She's smoking a cigarette and thinking about the state of our welfare system and how we all lie and how she wanted strawberry shampoo. Her topless Spyder zipped passed a speed limit sign, going much faster than was legal. It was dirty and tired, just like her. But she was beautiful and hard to catch and leaving the world in her dust. Just her and Dean Martin on the radio and Fufu Bunny buckled up in the seat next to her. She'd been alone on the empty stretch for a hundred miles, slightly curving to the left, to the right but always flat. She put her foot down and the car shot across the landscape. The cacti and prairie dogs became quick flashes, then just fuzzy blurs. A car materialized on the horizon, she slowed, but only for a moment, before she gunned the motor again. "He has to see me" she said of the other driver...

A toad hopped by the smoking wreckage. He paused, but only for a moment, before he continued on his path. Her car was on it's top and the other car was crumpled, it's left turn signal still blinking. . . . .

She awoke in vibrant colors and with a strawberry lollipop in her mouth. She spit it onto the dirt only to have the birds and bees take it up to the nests that they shared. Fufu Bunny laid beside her, somehow staring at her was malcontent through button eyes. Slipping past carrot trees and walls made from jars of marmalade stacked up like bricks, she thought to herself, then said to Fufu Bunny "Candyland, this is not." The sun rose three times and was a cotton ball soaked in gatorade. Then the moon came out, only to reveal it was ball of medical waste. She was lost among madness with nothing but her torn clothes, a carrot plucked from a tree with a jar of marmalade for dipping and Fufu Bunny; too much like Alice to comprehend. But Alice wasn't alone. She had help.

Jaded road led to a hot air balloon, ruby slippers and a floating bubble but she refused to go near them. Carrot trees were about as weird as she was going today. She curled up under a tree that didn't talk and went to sleep with Fufu Bunny.

After the second rising of the sun, she awoke with Fufu Bunny sitting on her chest, his head leaning slightly to the left. She stood up and continued to the right, down the jaded road. She finally hit a wall made of jars of ink and couldn't knock it down. She took a feather off the ground and used the ink to write all over the trees that didnt talk and the jaded road. "Life is moments turned to hours." "He will make you cry, no doubt." "Death to the Czar" "Laugh it up, fuzzball!" "Fufu Bunny was here." When she was satisfied, she stood back to admire her work only to see it all crumble before her eyes.

She was going to turn around and go back; at least there she had marmalade and carrots. But she didn't. She went past the threshold and didn't look back because she knew it wouldn't be there if she did. She walked up to her car, broken and sad, just like her. She laid down next to her car and her head started to bleed. Her legs broke and her jaw cracked in six places. Fufu bunny was nestled under her dislocated arm. She could hear a faint song in the wind, humming to keep her company as she waited for someone to come.

The C word

2010-02-19T22:07:00.000-08:00

I've been reluctant to write about this.

Maybe because that would make it real or because it's just too damn scary. I have low grade, beginning stages of cervical cancer. I was free and clear for the last year and in the last month it's reared it's ugly little head again.

I'm not scared of leaving this body. I fear the hurt it would bring the people I love but I have no fear for myself. But I don't think that's really an option for me with this. It's early and highly monitored. I do fear of falling so far into debt that I can't crawl out. That I won't be able to buy my next house. That I couldn't get a loan for my next business. That if I get married, I would hurt my husbands credit.

I am still on COBRA but only until September then I'm on my own. It's so expensive that I've been selling some clothes and other household items to collect enough for the monthly payment. It's at these moments when I'm writing out the checks to my old boss, that prick, that I consider crazy thing.

Like when I drive past the local strip joint, I do consider it for half a moment. Making a thousand dollars on a Saturday night... that would pay off my medical lab bills and then some... I know why desperate women get married. I know why they sell their hair and blood. But that's not me. Not yet at least.

But it does make me think about people and the choices they make. The girl sucking on the stripper pole, whores on the corner, pushers, the desperate people out there. Maybe they didn't have a choice. Work at McDonalds for 7.50 an hour and still can't make rent or hit the street and feed yourself and pay rent and heat your place.

It's all a lesson in being less judgmental on my part. It's a lesson I needed to learn. And here I am, humble, broke and a better person. And happier.

A little V-day poem...

2010-02-14T23:25:00.000-08:00

This boy, so faint in his intention, has black toes and bloody heart soaked in fed fire, hidden love.
He bothers to pluck his strings.

Fluorescent and incandescent, tearful and beautiful, fluttering bodies fill his lines, cleft between the head and his soul, trembling with what she said but no time to tell her.

And bated breath, turn sigh, non-truth to lie, he could keep riding and learn to get by. Electric eyes and a silver mind and tongue, neon bright.

This boy, his intention clearer, has black toes and bloody heart. He's filled with fire but spilling love, plucking her strings boldly. Standing up and facing right, they all feel it radiating, the light, the heat , the touch and the release.

Followed home, laying it down, all in one, the one is all and everything.

A Decision

2010-01-13T17:47:00.000-08:00

There's a single lamppost lit outside on the street below my window.

He's been asleep for about an hour. He didn't hear me get up. Things are so uncertain now. I feel that at any moment that room may turn upside down or perhaps the floor may start to crumble or swivel around, like in my nightmares. But I remain right side up and on solid ground for now.

Last month, I was sick with a terrible fever. Alone, 10 stories above the so-called solid ground, the walls moved, the rugs swam around the floor and the sheets dripped onto the floor, I walked around my home, only to open my eyes to realize I was still in bed, all things stationary. I heard my grandmother call my name in the dark. In that second, jerked back to the present, lying in bed sweating and barely breathing, I was gripped by paralyzing fear. Not that my Granny was speaking to me across the gauze of another plane, but that I was truly alone up there.

Tonight, the lamp and the sleeping man, the one who I feel so much for, keeps the alone away. Though things may crumble beneath my feet, I know he will try to catch me and the single street lamp will light my way. And in this moment, where I stand naked in front of this window, soft breathing behind me, this blue room that I helped paint, I turn to him. My silhouette will keep him company as he dreams of blue skies he won't remember tomorrow. I know with more resolution than I have ever felt in my limited years that though I am followed, tracked by uncertainty and uneven ground, I am sure of this man. I am sure he is a good man, honest to a fault and that his love for me is true and layered. His love, his heart is something no other man has ever given me. No other man has meant more to me, loved me like he does and for this, I have given him my whole heart, my trust, my everything. He is it for me. Of this, I am certain.

I lay down next to him as the clock downstairs chimes 3am.

I fear that it will all be taken away from me so I drink in every happy moment, like this one. But then I relax, hold him close and allow the fear to siphon away, for now, and drift off to sleep, where I can dream of blue skies and us and wake up with those memories.

Come over to the dark side... we have cake.

2009-12-31T21:58:00.000-08:00

Things are kind of bleak.

I'm in some kind of funk lately. My joblessness has affected me more than I thought it ever would. I'm stuck in daydreams and thoughts of running away from my current responsibilities and finding a life. Running away with the circus. Teaching surfing lesson to tourists on the south shore.

I just feel like my life was going so well. I bought my beautiful house, I met the man of my dreams, I was young and beautiful with a great job and a well mannered cat. And it all crumbled into the fire within months. (well, except my fella... he just keeps getting better and better)

I am overcome by feelings of hopelessness and despair at times. (Geez, I sound like one of those prescription commercials...) I know it's just a phase, a dark shadow that will be overrun by the sun soon enough. But still...

I need something, I just don't know what it is.

ps - The cake is a lie.

Corporate Daydream

2009-12-11T20:56:00.000-08:00

I had a dream.

I daydream of being on a carousel, going round and round as the sunshine blinks at me. I’m all alone and the music is soft and old fashioned. I close my eyes and I wake up in a field. It’s warm and cotton floats in the air.

The wild flowers carpet the field that just goes on and on. I walk and walk. I come across fruit trees that turn into a forest. Nut trees, avocados, pineapple patches. The light grows dimmer and speckled on the forest flower and the air cools. I gather baskets full of almonds, oranges, vanilla beans, chocolate bars, bowls of noodles with chopsticks, and ice cream cones. The baskets are full but not heavy. The deer don’t mind me at all.

The forest ends and the sun is born again, warming my skin, keeping the tamales hot in the leather pouch they’re in. This new valley past the trees is surrounded by snow capped mountains miles out in either direction, creating a fortress, a castle that was all mine, no one could enter. As I continue to walk with my baskets between the giant arms of either range, I can see a thin pillar of smoke rising straight up into the calm blue sky. As I move closer, I see a stone stacked cabin with two smoke stacks and a small garden off to the right. I open the gate to the courtyard and put my baskets down on the front step. I almost knock on the door when I see a note tacked in front of the knocker. “Welcome. It’s yours. Take good care of us.” I enter slowly.

There is a large overstuffed sofa by the crackling fire place, where three large pillows are placed on the floor. There is a bookshelf full of books, new and old, and little curiosities tucked throughout. A record cabinet sets across from the fireplace, full of different music from jazz to pop. The kitchen is small and warm, a breeze moving through the window over the sink. I put my fruit and ice cream away in the ice box and take my leather pouch of tamales to the fire, take “Peter Pan” off the shelf and curl up on the pillows. The wind starts to grow colder and I close the windows and venture upstairs. There is a curtain in the single room to hide the soaking tub and changing area. The bed has two down comforters and six pillows. I light the fire in the room, turn the water on in the tub and lay my tired body into the steamy water that goes up to my neck. As I dry off and slip into my long white pajama gown, it begins to snow in the valley.

As I drift off, Peter flying in soft circles above the house keeping guard, I know that it’s possible that I won’t wake up here in the morning but that it was worth the risk.

Crazy.

2009-11-16T19:29:00.000-08:00

I am crazy for you.

And I think you know what I mean. Not Joaquin Phoenix or Margo Kidder kind of crazy. More like the Marquis de Sade. No wait, bad example. Like Debra Carr. So happy, so incandescent in her joy that she can't help but burst into song, dancing, twirling around the living room with Yule Brena. But where does the music come from? How does everyone know the words? Maybe they're not even there, maybe there is no music...

So when we start dancing and singing and the little blue birds encircle us and the little furry woodland creatures shyly venture out of the forest to greet us, they will come in their crisp white coats and padded wagon to take us away. Together.

But don't cry for us, Argentina. The truth is we never left you. No wall can hold us back and our happiness is like sunshine through the cracks and falling parts. In our matching pajamas, hand in hand, we will skip down to the main gate, tossing over our shoulders the homemade sticks of dynamite we made during arts and crafts time in the sunshine room. The armed guards stead themselves for a fight. They are blinded by a cloud of carnage. Out flies a ninja star, a rubber chicken, a bumper to a 1974 Cheraco. Shooting from the chaos, a photon particle beam nearly misses your head. Grown men cry out for the mommies, running out to the horizon in nothing but their BVDs. Finally, with a war cry that would make a grown man wet his underoos, a Care Bear stare takes out the remaining, whiting out the landscape for a few moments with it's brilliant rainbow, strawberry scented light. The mushroom cloud clears and we emerge from the smoke and dust unblemished, stepping over the piles of unconscience men. And I'll kiss you and say, "I love you", as we ride off into the sunset.

So this is love....

2009-09-01T19:22:00.000-07:00

You don't want to forget this.

The way you feel right now. The way that you can't wait to see him. The way you ache when you miss him. The way you just sit and think about how happy you are. Right now.

Never take these moments for granted. This beginning stage where everything is wonderful. You are Cinderella and he is Prince Charming. Little blue birds sew your ball gown and you sing to the mice and they sing right back. There is good and bad and black and white and you are glowing sunshine.

When he forgets your birthday, remember the first time he said he loved you. When he keeps doing that annoying thing you used to think was so cute, remember dancing in your living room to Nat King Cole on the record player while dinner burned in the kitchen. When you have your first knock down, drag out fight, remember that the first present he brought you was canvases so you could paint to your hearts desire.

Now some say that this right here isn't true love. "True love" is not getting divorce after he goes to Vegas with his friends on your anniversary. It's holding her hair back while she puking pepperoni pizza and beer. It's getting up at 4am to feed the baby, even though you have to go to work in 2 hours, so he can sleep a little bit longer. I agree fully, but this too is love.

This shiny, happy moment is gone before you know it. There is more to come, but just don't forget this. It can keep you through the lean times and move you through. Don't ever forget.

I AM NOT DEAD.

2009-08-18T19:12:00.000-07:00

No, I'm just unemployed.

So maybe leaving my consulting career was not the best plan. It seems that I timed it perfectly with the economy dropping out...

I've been on about a 50+ interviews and even nailed a few, only to have them offer me a 40% pay cut, to which I would kindly and respectfully tell them to go passionately fuck themselves.

I have been investing well for the past 10 years so I'm not hurting for money, but a girl can't just sit around all day. So everyday I wake up and hit the streets in my stilletos in hope of... well, hope I guess.

I promise to be more diligent in my updating, but may have to restrict it just to weekends though.

Good luck America. I'm right there with you.

The Perfect Sountrack

2009-05-28T11:08:00.000-07:00

There are very rare moments that are perfect.

I admit, I am a bit of a perfectionist. I like things leveled, unless it's supposed to be off kilter, then I want it to be perfectly off kilter. Life is not perfect. It's messy and complicated and things never seem to play out the way you want. But there are times when things seem to fall into place, even down to the sountrack of your life.

I was sailing with a small crew around the island of Kauai. The Northwest side is only accessible

The Na Pali Coast

by water because of the cliffs, hills, water and other natural occurrences. The day was cloudy and dreary but perfect for picture taking. The mist clung to the sides of the mossy cliffs as we lounged on the 'trampolines' in the front of the boat. Lunch was served to us, the traditional hawaiian fair: roasted pig, fresh fruit, juice. All incredibly good, especially for just a 5 hour tour. The spinner dolphins were jumping around the boat and playing with a baby whale and it's mother a few hundred feet out. We had yet to reach the top of the island when the weather took a turn for the worse. The dolphins disappeared and the whales headed out to sea. Not a good sign.

The waves suddenly became bigger and chop was getting worse and worse. The storm was coming up on us and fast. The captain decided to cut our trip a little short to get us back before the lightening caught up with us. Thus began a perfect moment. While some of the other guests scurried inside to stay warm and dry, my friends and I clamped down and held on for dear life in the front portion of the boat. The boat was going full speed, hitting the breaks hard, the spray flying up and hitting us in the face. And suddenly, over the loud speakers, of all things, came a Hans Zimmer track straight from "Pirates". We all bounced around, yelling and screaming at the top of our lungs, laughing until we choked on sea water, the crew running up and down the boat and getting soaked to the bone.

It was perfect.

Fired... out of a cannon into the sun.

2009-05-26T10:27:00.000-07:00

My father was fired today.

I'm in a state of shock.

This business was ours, the family's business. But after my brother died, my father couldn't do it anymore. There was too much to do and he just couldn't care anymore. So he sold it and all of us continued to work for the new boss. (I was working part time, whenever my job allowed me to come in and lend a hand) But now, a little over a year after the business was sold, I'm the last one standing.

It truly breaks my heart. This store was ours. I've slept here. I've cried here. We've had family dinners and meetings, brokered million dollar deals and done cartwheels down the halls. And now there is no sign of us anywhere. Nothing belongs to us anymore. It's like we never existed here. And once again, my brother's desk is empty.

I'll be updating my resume this week. I think it's time to make a change and this was a huge sign/slap to the fucking face. I'm moving my consulting to part time by August and will be moving forward with a new career ASAP.

This ship is sinking and I'm headed for the shore.

Love is the best drag

2009-05-20T09:22:00.000-07:00

Good golly I love me some drag queens!

Perhaps it's their hyper femininity or the fact that men make better women than women do but

Divine indeed.

I just freakin love them!

There was Divine, actor, singer, fabulous person all around. You may remember her playing Tracy's mom in Hairspray. (Don't even talk to me about that hidious remake of the musical.)
RuPaul, who strangely played my favorite she did out of drag, as a councilor at a gay-to-straight

Gorgeous...

camp in "But I'm A Cheerleader". And who can forget Philip Seymour Hoffman's portrayal in "Flawless"? Well, I don't think anyone saw that movie but me, but it's a classic.

I think I was one in a past life. The outrageous hair, makeup, attitude. They can dare to be as fabulous as they please without a care in the world about what others might think. That is what I truely admire about drag queens. The confidence in their knowledge that they are the greatest thing since the stiletto.

We should all strive for that level of confidence.

I no longer fear the love song

2009-05-18T12:20:00.000-07:00

The coolest

Something inside me has changed.

That empty sad thing is faded. I have listened to a love song and not thrown my laptop out the window. It's a miracle! Long live the love song!

PS-feeling much better; the Koala Flu has subsided!

Still assed out...

2009-05-15T08:30:00.000-07:00

Cough, hack, cough

I'm still down and out with this flu.

I'm coming home early from DC so I can get some rest and try to kick this thing. Or at least stop coughing up alien babies. Yuck.

Have a good weekend my chickadees!

Sick as a pig

2009-05-13T05:06:00.000-07:00

Damn swine flu.

I would like to refer to it as Koala flu from now on. Much cuter. More attractive sounding.

Stopped up, achy, icky, and all the other accoutrement. Lucky me.

More later, gonna go eat spicy food and sit in the sauna to loosen things up.

Man of Mystery

2009-05-12T15:02:00.000-07:00

Here he is.

In Italy a few years ago.

Perfect for being a bit mysterious myself, don't you think?

My Dream Jeopardy Categories

2009-05-07T11:47:00.000-07:00

I suck at this show.

I never know the answers and even if I do, I always forget to put the answer in the form of a question. Or my buzzer gets stuck. Or the guy next to me kicks me.

So if I could hand pick my categories, these would be the ones.

Sentences that start with "Hey you!"
Swear words
Video and Film Editing
Tastes like Chicken
I scream, you scream, we all scream, "It's OJ! Run bitches!"
Business
Bongs, Dongs and Thongs
FAA Airline Traveler Regulations
Puppies!
Euphemisms for your genitalia
Ways NOT to impress Jodi Foster
Thanks for the Mammories: Real or fake

What are yours?

Essembly days makes me nervous.

2009-05-06T10:17:00.000-07:00

Good morning Northside Elementary.

This is Mrs. Bouldus's 4th grade class and the title of my essay is: Things I am grateful for by Ms. Celluloid Thelma Darling.

*clears throat, awkwardly pulls at dress*

People seem to be angry a lot. Traffic, jobs they don't like, their boss who yells a lot.

So I am here to remind everyone of the little everyday things that are good.

Popping a really juicy pimple
The sound of ice breaking when you pour coke over it.
Eating a cookie, even though your mom said no cookies before dinner. Those cookies somehow taste better...
Open fields, cause they're perfect for a picnic, red rover, a walk, cartwheels or just feeling the wind go through the little holes between the thread in your clothes and touch your skin.
When you let someone into your lane and they wave a little 'thank you' wave.
Pee-Wee's playhouse, cause who doesn't want a talking Pterodactyl and personal genie?
When you have to pee really really bad and you finally make it to a bathroom and the bathroom is clean and quiet. That's awesome.
Making your own ice cream. I once made purple mint ice cream with banana bits in it. It tasted good.
Watching your favorite movies and daytime TV when you're home sick.
When that perfect song is playing at the perfect moment in life... now this is a rare one. It's your favorite romantic song while slow dancing or that inspiration song comes over the loud speakers during the last game of the season.
After several attempts, making the perfect roasted marshmallow
The sound of fajitas on a hot plate
When someone says, "I love you" and you know they really mean it
When you go to the restroom and by the time you come back, you waitress has brought your food, like they somehow knew when you were leaving and coming back.
Slow dancing with your husband in the living room
When a baby wraps it's tiny hand around your finger
For no reason
Having such a good time you don't realize it's already past midnight
When you mom or dad picks you up in the middle of the school day just to hang out, go shopping, get ice cream and/or see a movie.
When the hot guy with the mohawk at the liquor store smiled at you
Stepping into a bucket of beans barefoot without getting thrown out of the farmers market
Falling asleep on the couch and having someone walk you to bed and tuck you in
Making someone happy and then watching them when they don't know you're looking
Ice cream, for no reason
The sound that a bunch of colored pencils make then the rattle around in a bin
Showering after a long flight
When you and your friend know all the words to the same awesome song and sing it loud and off key
Dogs
When you pull up to a meter and there's still time in it
Falling in love with a dress, deciding to buy it even though you can't afford it, then they ring it up on sale! 40% off!
When you know the answers to a tv games show and then you feel like the smartest person alive

This concludes my essay. I hope you liked it. I think I might make it a two-parter. Thank you and have a good day. Oh! And Principal Thomas says tomorrow, we are having chicken instead of meat loaf. Thanks.

*Bows and then trips over a shoelace and falls off the stage*

I'm okay!

Room 502

2009-05-05T11:28:00.000-07:00

Would you stay here?

For how many nights? One? Maybe two? How about for the rest of your short life? Bwa ha ha ha!!

Ok, dramatic but here's the deal.

This is Waverly Hill Sanatorium in Louisville, Ky. It is considered one of the most haunted places in the states. Opened in1910, it was built to house the steep rise in tuberculosis patients. It soon became overcrowded as the disease spread and another hospital was built.

Some of the treatments seem barbaric by today's standards, while others are still used today. Desperate times... Patients were placed in front of open windows, no matter the weather. (yes, it snows in Kentucky.) Balloons were placed inside lungs and expanded to 'let more oxygen in'.

And then there is the 'body chute'. I'll let you ponder that one for a while. Ok, it's actually much less scary than it sounds. The doctors believed that the sight of wheeling out body after body of those dying from TB would be a real bummer so a tunnel was built to take them away in a more discreet manner. It's not like a laundry chute where you just dump a body after you torture it to death, which is the first thing that came to my sick little brain. It also kept the staff from freezing their butts off in the winter commuting back and forth.

Like many institutions of the day, when TB was squashed by advances in medicine, there were less and less patients and the building began to fall into disrepair. The hospital closed and the building sat there to rot.

Then this happy, sunshiny place was going to be turned into a prison, until the developer ran out of money. Then a christian company bought it and wanted to build the largest statue of Christ EVER on the top of the hill. That didn't pan out either. Finally, the building is being restored by it's new owners and it now lives on as a destination for ghost hunters and thrill seekers. You can sign up for an overnight and wander the ground (for a fee) and scare the crap out of yourself.

And you too can tour the body chute and hang out in room 502. What's so special about room 502 you ask? According to spooky ledgend, a nurse ended her life in that room. It's said she was pregnant with the child of a married doctor who worked in the hospital. She supposedly was part of a abortion that did not go well, then hung herself from the pipes. (Other legends say she jumped from the window.) No matter that the pipes weren't installed until much later or there are no reports or articles about a suicide. Still, creepy story.

It's a very creepy place but I think there are probably scarier places out there. Old abandoned insane asylums, prisons, and other facilities where people were kept.

A friend of mine once told me that every spirit she had ever encountered in her paranormal investigation business was 'good'. (She even did a walk through Colombine High School one night) But after pressing her some more, she said that there was one place, where she would never go back. The things she felt were anger, fear, pain and rage of the people left behind. But that's another story. I don't think this place warrants that kind of fear.

We just love to scare the shit out of ourselves, in any way.

http://www.therealwaverlyhills.com/
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qpv9MLkogBI

The thing that won't die

2009-04-30T12:19:00.000-07:00

I'm ready to throw something across the room.

Anything. Especially if it will make a satisfying noise when it breaks.

It's been over 3 months since the asshole murdered my car and over 1 month since the other asshole hurt my new car and I have yet to see a freaking penny from either aforementioned asshole.

I called the DA about the hit and run and he said that he did plead guilty (the lucky bastard

stuck a deal for just community service) and now there will be a hearing about compensation that I must attend. Great. So I miss another day of work. Love that. Then he has to agree on compensation and if he gets all uppity and thinks my medical bills are too much, then we go to trial. Cross your fingers.

Then I called my insurance to ask about my other accident, about my new car. They have seemed to forgot about me. They apparently called the red neck's insurance THREE WHOLE TIMES but they have yet to call back. So into subjugation it goes. Well I'm glad they've been so on top of things. Must have been stressful to leave a message with the red neck's insurance less than once a week for the past month.

So I'm sitting here, minus a thousand dollars just in deductible fees, and no one seems to be able to help me get back what's mine. So I guess it's gonna be me.

Excuse me, I have to go get some law books, hire a new, nut-cracking lawyer and give some fair warning to my insurance company, who I will be dropping due to their lack of service and skill.

And maybe I'll buy a flame thrower. Just in case none of that stuff works.

PANIC!

2009-04-29T10:06:00.000-07:00

Overkill or new fashion trend?

It's a serious issue.

People are dying.

But I will not be forced to panic, to be pushed into a fearful rant because of the Swine Flu. (or the Mexico flu, to be politically correct to my Israeli friends... which is just dumb. Swine = bad... Flu = bad. Swine Flu = double bad. Not offensive to the Jews! I don't understand...)

The news, bloggers and neighbors alike are flipping out, trying to get me to flip out. Not. Gonna. Do. It.

Epidemic, by defination, yes. Pandemic... not yet my wildly panicking friends. People are talking about the black plague, yellow fever, small pox. Wow.

Come and talk to me in 3 months and lets see where it is then. Then we can talk about a pandemic.

AIDS effect every single person in certain African countries, whether it be having it, a parent, child or sibling having it or a friend having it. In Botswana, almost 1 in 4 have AIDS. (Check the CDC's website for more info) Over a million people, mostly children, die of malaria every year. There is some awful crap out there.... Be grateful for your health, take a deep breath and don't freak out. Thanks.

Oh yeah, and wash your hands.

If you really do want to know, go here- http://doihaveswineflu.org/

The New Guy

2009-04-27T10:46:00.000-07:00

I've been seeing The Mad Scientist for about 2 months now.

I went back to my list (see March 2nd blog) to see how he stacks up. It's scary. I think I may have got what I asked for.

So he was helping me cook dinner and I looked at him and thought about what exactly would we fight about. What would he do to hurt me? What will I do to disappoint him? What is it that will bug the crap out of us about each other?

We made love (I hate that expression but it's really the best words for it) and it was again, amazing. Mind blowing. Beautiful. So not creepy, awkward or gross like it has been with others. He held me, kissed my face, told me I was beautiful, and that little mean voice inside of me didn't jolt up and scream "Nah uh!". (Titus calls in your inner retard...) Afterward, as I was laying there, trying to think of something not stupid to say, I realized that I really felt something for this person. It was more than just having fun and getting along and laughing together. More than his great body, cool career, positive attitude or kindness toward

s me. More than him always trying to pay for our dates, that he doesn't mind staying in to cook and watch a movie or the way he holds me.There was something else brewing.

I didn't think of anything to say.

I have fear. Fear that he doesn't feel the same way. But that's what this is all about. I have to jump head first. He's worth that. I may get broken again but this one seems worthy of a break if need be.

I'll keep you posted.

Oooo... preeeeetty

2009-04-22T10:40:00.000-07:00

I don't really have anything to say about Paris or anything; I just liked this photo, taken by a good friend of mine. I love the glow-y street lights. Makes me want to go back and wander around Paris at night. (with a gun taped to my back and a taser in my purse, but still...)

Just thought I would share it with you.

Girl porn...

2009-04-21T13:04:00.000-07:00

One of my best and oldest friends recently wrote an article about the idea of the "Magic Man" and it really got me thinking...

Does any man stand a chance?

Our "porn" is something so much different that what men watch. We read books, watch TV and movies and fall in love with characters that speak to our heart first then we are physically

watch those hands mister

attracted to them later. (usually, not always. Sometimes, it's the other way around. Hello Drover from 'Australia'...) Like Erin mentioned, Edward Scissorhands was one of her first fictional crushes. Shy, deeply kind and sweet. Thoughtful. Beautiful. For me, my first crush was Wolverine. Brooding, loyal, fierce. Women would throw themselves at him but he stayed true. The prince battles the brambles and giant evil dragon to kiss Aurora. Rhett drives through a city ablaze to keep Scarlett and the other safe. Devlin uses all his cunning to get Alicia out of the clutches of the Nazis. I even fell in love with the portly Albert (Kevin James) when I stood up to a board of old codgers for his lady love.

But then you take all that then consider, does any woman stand a chance?

The plastic dolls with the surprised look on their faces seem to be no match for our curves, stray hairs and other 'imperfections'. Sure, we can have some elective surgery done. New boobs. Bigger lips. Lipo here,

here and here. And buy up all the shoes with clear, acrylic heels. There. You are now a real life pleasure doll. As for your attitude adjustment... You must be bold, attentive and if I know my rap songs, "a lady on the street and a freak in the bed". This is what many, many guys watch for their own gratification. And honestly, it's not completely unattainable. Do I want to be that? Hell to the no. But it's possible.

But if we turn the tables again, men are screwed. They can't fly, do magic, or beat up our harassers without a busted nose and a week in county. Heck, most my old boyfriends couldn't even cook.

So here's my moral to the story. We suburban mortals can't be Superman or Jenna Jamison. (And thank GOD!) As much as we want a sex kitten or a beautiful vampire, I'm not sure we would really want them once we had them. We will always want the magic man or the porno goddess but maybe there are more attainable characters out there.

There are fictional figures that are reachable. There are men that reach out from the pages of fiction who get us all swoony and sweaty. Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. Arrogance turned to regret and redemption. Speaking his mind. Great love for his dear sister. Smoldering. I guess it's something to strive for...

Because in the end, we are princesses who want to be held, kissed, listened to and loved. We deserve a prince. You don't have to slay a dragon. Just tell us we look beautiful and listen about how our day was. And we will try to buy a push up bra. Deal?

1000 days til night

2009-04-15T09:47:00.000-07:00

We are now under 1000 days until Armageddon.

Ok so maybe not.

2012 is (supposedly) the year we all die... or the sun explodes or all the nuclear bombs simultaneously explode or the poles reverse or something.

In late December, the Mayan calender finishes it's thirteenth cycle and many believe that this date (either the 21st or the 23rd depending on how you decipher the documents) is when the Mayans predicted the end of the world in one form or another. The date is written on many different walls and surviving representations and obviously it was important to the Mayans but end of the world?

So I'm sure you are as curious as I am... How will it all end? Well, the most popular answer seems to be that the world will reach it's tipping point. It can no longer sustain life after we have warmed, polluted and destroyed it so completely. This could mean another ice age or perhaps just a massive seizure that causes weather to flip out. Volcanoes erupts all over, hurricanes, tornadoes, boiling rivers, raining lizards, all that kind of biblical stuff. (and don't you just know some crazy asshole will stand up in the middle of the chaos and declare himself Jesus...) The sudden change in climate destroys crops all over the world and millions die of starvation. Those in already hot or cold climates die of exposure in their own homes.

Another theory is a little more cosmic and mystical. Some think the Mayans understood the universe WAY more than we do (alien conspiracy anyone?) and they knew about some kind of cosmic bitch slap headed our way. On Dec. 21st, it will be the winter solstice, that is true. But believers think it will begin a new age. It will be less explosions and death, and more of a new awakening and enlightenment of our entire race. (perhaps finally knowing of other life in the universe, ei-ET phoned home and now he's back bitches!)

But if you wanna get really scary, if you really wanna shit your pants, let's talk about Doomsday. Other theorist warn of global catastrophe. A third world war, global warming causes famine and drought that leads to plague and pandemics. Society will fall apart and it basically turns into Road Warrior, but hopefully with less Leather Daddys and more Tina Turner.

Then if you want to go all religious there is even more to fear. The earth cracks open and the four horseman pop up for a cuddle. This is Revelations people. First comes Pestilence, then War, Famine, then the forth seal will be broken and the last rises. "And I beheld, and lo a pale horse; and he that sat on him was called Death, and Hell followed with him."

And at the same time, Mayan scholars suggest that the date on the Mayan calender merely is the restart of the calender. Nothing more. You come to the end, then start up again.

There are many many theories. A large object, "Planet X", will pass so closely to us it will shift our poles and ending civilization as we know it. Solar flares go crazy, knocking out the worlds communication sending us into a tailspin of chaos. On that day, machines finally become aware and it's the beginning of the end for the human race. Science experiment goes horribly wrong and a horrible medicine resistant disease is released on the entire world. The ozone disappears and the radiation from the sun kills half of us while the other half mutate and adapt. I could go on and on.

My mother and I were discussing this the other day. She had this to say. Imagine yourself in Europe in the early 1300's. People were dropping like flies, not just in your town but all over the world. The priests and monks, men of G-d, those sworn to help the sick and dying, where all dead. Accusations fly back and forth: earthquakes, monsters, Jews poisoning wells, or simply G-d's wrath. Food became scarce when trading is cut off by the government to try and control the spread. War broke out in England, Scotland and France. Wouldn't you look around and think, "My word, the end is near!"? Over and over again in history, we see the world in dramatic situations. Hard times come in waves. But life goes on.

I don't assume to know anything about the universe. I have only what I believe. I believe everything will be ok. I don't know how or when or why. I don't know a thing. I believe that life always finds a way. And I follow life.

So take that, Nostradamus, and shove that up your pipe!

Happy Easter

2009-04-14T12:32:00.000-07:00

And by that, I mean, what the fuck?

I don't get Easter. Yes, I understand that Christians celebrate the resurrection of Jesus after he died for the world's sins. It's a very important holiday for many religious people all over the world.

But how in holy hell did bunnies and baby chicks, pastels, and colored eggs have anything to do with that?

And who made up that a bunny would lay these colored eggs then hide them for little kids to find? And who said, "Make the eggs chocolate, filled with marshmallow!"

In other countries, they have Easter fires, they silence the church bells, skiing, watching murder mysteries on TV, spanking in public(thanks Czech Republic!), and the sprinkling of perfumed water.

I'm so confused!

Out for the count

2009-04-06T13:05:00.000-07:00

I'm out of the office this week, working from home/on the go.
Have a great week everyone and see you on Monday.

Happy 100!

2009-04-03T10:47:00.000-07:00

Welcome!

You have entered my 100th post! It seems just like yesterday my blog was just a little newling, tottling around with only a dozen posts. Just look at it now! It makes a mother so proud.

Happy birthday Dollhouse! Cheers, to a hundred more!

Much love,
Celluloid Darling

Not Impossible

2009-04-02T10:07:00.000-07:00

They say it can't be done.

They say there is no way to get a good feel for the city in one week. They can suck it. I'm still going to try.

I'm planning my trip to London today and I feel like I've just scratched the surface. As far as basic places to visit and experience, this is what I've been told so far from family and friends:

St. Paul's Cathedral (due to my interest about the home front during WWII)
The London Eye (cause who doesn't like a giant ferris wheel?)

The Natural History Museum
Tower of London (it's morbid; what else is there?)
Buckingham Palace (so that I may flip off the Queen... or just wave. Whichever)
Houses of Parliament (V for Vendetta?)
The Shakespeare Globe Theater (and see a play, of course)
King's Cross (because I'm a giant dork)
London Zoo
Abby Road

Any other brilliant ideas?

ps-my face continues to fall off. Just so you know.

As punishment, my face is falling off

2009-03-31T18:06:00.000-07:00

So I met someone.

We went out a couple of times and I didn't think he even liked me. Yet he kept calling me. And I kept saying yes. By the third date, had yet to even touch me, let alone kissed me.

Snog-rific!

By the middle of our delicious lamb chops, peppers and mushroom pasta(he cooked), sitting in his surprisingly lovely apartment, I was so confused. We have great conversations, barely any awkward silences, and he is very sweet and extra attentive and we do have a lot in common. I even gave him a cute nickname: The Mad Scientist. But I was still all up in my head about things.

Maybe this is too soon to get back into dating? Is this guy the kind of guy I should be dating? Does he show any signs of poor or dangerous behavior? Does he meet the requirement that I set up for myself? Do I even still believe that love is real? If I don't, why am I even here? Then I remember that I'm in this man's house and I'm on a date, focus!

As we got into a lively conversation about film, and I blabbered on and on about technique and movies that reminded me of other movies that reminded me of other movies, he started to rub my neck. (Innocent enough, since I had been complaining about it because of yet another accident I had been involved in...) And then he finally kissed me. A lot.

I got home at about 8 in the morning and after a quick shower I caught myself in the mirror. The snogging gods have punished with me stubble rash. I didn't realize that he was that stubbly! It's been about two days now and my nose, cheek, and all the skin around my lips are bright red and scaly. I looks like I'm been in a cherry pie eating contest. Like I'd been frenching Beelzebub. I'm like a sexy red lizard... or a not so sexy blogger. Whichever.

Like my face, except hotter. Meow.

I have been up and down the internet, digging through medical books and esthetician text books and can't find anything. I was hoping to post, "What to do when you fall asleep on a belt sander" but sadly, I can be of no help. All I can do is say, good luck fellow snoggers. And my best advice? Ask him to shave.

Oh, and I will be seeing him again this week.

Sans the sandpaper.

As she screams, "Again?"

2009-03-30T10:25:00.000-07:00

I am fed up, my friends.

While driving through a legal green turn arrow, some jackass forgot to brake and tboned my brand new car. And again, just like my last accident, this asshole wasn't driving his own car so the car's owner's insurance doesn't cover other drivers. What is the point of paying hundreds of dollars every month if when I get hit I STILL have to pay for the damage done by others? And why doesn't the insurance companies or the law make someone other than the victim pay?

And why can't my insurance company grow a set of giant, hairy, brass balls and go after these

people with everything they have! So far this year, uninsured or under insured drivers hitting me have cost my insurance company over $12,000! (and over $2000 out of pocket for me!) And it's only March! Get out there Mr. Claims-adjuster and brake some knee caps!

I am utterly helpless in this situation. All I can do is sit on my ass and wait for the insurance companies to go back and forth and debate policy terms and definitions of the word 'is' at a snail's pace.

So there goes another $500 and without a car for at least a week and I am praying that it won't be totaled. My brand new car that I've had for 2 months. That still has the new car smell. That is still clean on the inside. That I just put a new CD/DVD player in.

I am so very tempted to exact revenge on the people who keep hitting my car and get away with it. Subscribe them to every magazine I can find. Send them 16 pizzas with extra anchovies. Give out their names and numbers to telemarketers. Post ads in the paper for intimate encounters: only fat, sweaty and horny need apply... But I know my dirty deeds will come back around to bite me in the ass. So I'm stuck up here, on the high road, broke with no car.

Sometimes being the good girl is such a pain in my ass.

Blizzard watch!

2009-03-26T09:21:00.000-07:00

Storm blowing in and I'm headed out for safety.
It is coming down like gang busters.
Perhaps a trip to some place toastier?

Needing a warmer climate anyway.

More soon; run for the hills!!

❤,
Pix

Daydream in the tub with Ramen

2009-03-23T11:10:00.000-07:00

Dreaming can be dangerous.

Last night while I was slurping Raman (the noodles, not the

guy, you sick pervs) in my bubble bath, reading "The Greatest Love Stories of WWII", I was daydreaming. I've been considering changing careers. The consulting business is getting to be too much of the same for me. And in these hard times, I see my services go to larger and larger companies and the more uncomfortable I get. And I know that my paycheck has come from bailout money once or twice and I'm not totally okay with that.

So there I was, in the tub, considering what I could do.

Pixie's List of Alternative jobs:
Travel Writer

I don't think they know either

Small time Editor
Researcher
World War II "reenactor"
Ghost
Rubber ducky tester
Hammock Crocheter

Ok, so I'm joking with some of those. But how does one start a new career at my age and still pay the bills?

I'm asking you little duckies...

No Luck(y)

2009-03-19T10:32:00.000-07:00

So at the last minute, my dog was taken away.

Lane was going to bring him over yesterday. I had his bed, litter box, food and toys are ready for him. And then she called.

"I can't do it. I feel awful." Blah blah blah.

My mother filled me in on Lucky's story and how Lane got him. She had a little girl puppy months ago. She was named Lucy. Lane picked her out and she waited until Lucy was old enough and then the great day came when Lucy came home. On the fifth day Lane got up, went to Lucy's crate to take her out for a walk to find that poor beautiful little Lucy had died during the night. Lane called her mother screaming and crying. What does one do in that situation? Me? I would scream and cry and call my mom too. So she buried the tiny puppy in the backyard, marked the grave with a beautiful stone and made an angry phone call to the breeder.

Long story short, a new baby boy came to Lane. She decided to name him Lucky. And even though she is too busy and feels like she doesn't give him enough attention, she can't let him go.

I do feel for her, I really do... I hope that she can find more time for him and make him happy.

And if so, I'm happy too.

Until our day, Little Harry will have to be just a daydream, a happy memory yet to be. See you then little guy.

My parents dog Buddy will be happy to hang out at my house in the mean time.

Sleeve Facing

2009-03-16T08:30:00.000-07:00

I love this.

It's hilarious and fun and I just learned about it a few days ago.

Sleeve facing is when you take an album cover and match it to your own dimension then snap a photo. It's ridiculous and amazing and I love it. Most of them are pretty damn good too. They put some effort into getting the props and clothing right. Gotta love the dedicated geek.

I love it when the internets comes up with something funny, innocent and totally harmless. It's a rarity. Usually it's someone getting hurt, being humiliated or some kind of sick humor. (Don't get me wrong, I love that stuff too...)

So I leave you with some of my favorite for you to enjoy. For more strangeness, check out sleeveface.com which is the hub for all who love this full contact sport.

The Antikythera Mechanism

2009-03-13T06:00:00.000-07:00

Strange shit.

THIS is The Antikythera Mechanism.

Well, part of it.

Someone found this thing on a ancient Roman merchant ship that wrecked off the coast of Greece in 1900. Can you imagine? Capt. Ahab pulls up a giant piece of metal off the oceans floor and see this? Nuts.

They call it the ''Mechanism'' because no one knows what the hell it is. It's some kind of geared device with 30 parts that moved at some point. I know what you're thinking... it's a big clock. Whoop-de-doo! Except it's from around 100BC which predates clocks by about a millennium. Just to give you an idea of what life was like in that time period, this is when Julius Caesar was a little baby, the Mayans were in full swing in Guatemala and when Spartacus enjoyed his heyday.

Zodiac symbols are found on the mechanism so the common belief is that it was used in astrology there is still much to understand about this amazing discovery.

The pieces and parts are currently part of the National Archeology Museum in Athens.

Go here for more about this oddity.
http://www.antikythera-mechanism.gr/

The Greatest Frontman of All Time

2009-03-12T08:41:00.000-07:00

Ok, enough of this personal drama shit.
Thanks for putting up with it. Back to the good stuff.

I'm going to get tons of shit for this...

Whenever someone makes a bold, absolute statement, you going to get people disagreeing with you. And by disagree, I mean fire bombing your car.

But I am going to do it. I declare, in front of my cat and all you fine people, that Freddy Mercury is the greatest frontman of all time!

Bon Scott? One trick pony.
David Lee Roth? Don't make me laugh. No wait, I'm already laughing.
Mick Jagger? Sorry skeleton boy, no can do.
Jim Morrison? He was hot and brilliant but fucking crazy. (and stinky)

No, I'm talking Freddie Freakin' Mercury. He was electric, charismatic. He wasn't all that pretty

but his presence on stage made you think he was a god. This man was an openly gay man fronting a band named Queen, preforming in lycra spandex and leather and still rednecks from Podunk county in rural Wisconsin loved them. That's power. He had a flare for the dramatic and it showed in his stage shows.

His voice was so unique and stong he could pull off lines like "Gunpowder, Gelatine/Dynamite with a laser beam /Guaranteed to blow your mind" and "I am a satellite Im out of control/ I am a sex machine ready to reload/ Like an atom bomb about to/ Oh oh oh oh oh explode"

He sang about a superhero named Flash, a classy whore, a battle between good and evil, the game of love and big ass women. Diverse, strange and always stiring.

Their sound is pulled from so many places, from glam rock, do wop, progressive, psychodelic and on and on. They could do anything they wanted, play any style, whatever sounded good and people loved it, ate it up. I mean, Bowie looked up to for crying out loud!

He play Live Aid at Wembley in front of over 70,000 people and his 20 minute performance was

voted "Greatest Live Gig of All Time". TWENTY minutes. By '06 the Greatest Hits albums was the number one selling album in Britin. In 2001 they were inducted into the Hall of Fame, two years later in the Songwriter's Hall of Fame(the one and only band ever to be enter into it, rather than just an individual), numerous Guinness Book World Records, Grammy Hall of Fame, and it just keeps going.

Farrokh Bulsara was born Sept. 5 1946 in Tanzania and went to school near Bombay wh

ere he discovered his love of music. The band as we know it formed 1970. Their first big hit was 'Killer Queen' in 1974. Freddie's life was full of ups and downs. The media hounded him about his sexual orientation and health. He had a steady girlfriend Mary Austin who he called his only true friend, but also had a long term relationship with hairdresser Jim Hutton who was with him when he died. There were constant rumors he had AIDS and was on death's door, to which he always replied were false.

You have to remember this was the late 80's/early 90's. People still weren't educated about HIV/AIDS. They thought is was a 'gay disease', that you could get it just by being near someone who had it. The sad truth was that Freddie did have AIDS; he was diagnosed in 1987. By 1991, it was obvious something was very wrong. The already svelte Mercury was even thinner, pale and wasn't seen in public very often.

The last song he recorded was "These Are The Days Of Our Lives". The video for the single was shot on May 30th, 1991. They chose to film in black and white to hide Freddie overall weakened look.

Freddie died on November 24, 1991 at the age of 45, 24 hours after releasing his statement to the public that he was indeed sick. He was the first major rock star to die of the disease.

Tribute statue in Switzerland

There are tributes every year to Freddie. At home in his native Tanzania (where some officals have problems paying tribute to a gay man), in Switzerland (where he recorded much of his music) to his adopted homeland England to his massive fan base in America.

Personally, I love this man. My brother and I would drive our parents crazy listening to the same Greatest Hits tape over and over again. We knew all the words by the time we were in kindergarden. My dad would make us laugh by goofing around to "Fat Bottom Girls". And when Freddie died, I didn't really understand what was going on, just that he was on the news a lot and they played his music videos much more on MTV, which I liked. I miss him. I wish he were still with us.

Can you just imagine the amazing music we might have today if he were?

Things have turned ugly...

2009-03-11T10:50:00.001-07:00

Sorry for all this personal shit but it's all got me thinking...

The Ex has been sending be a barge of angry emails as of late. I've tried to be calm and speak plainly without getting over emotional. I've tried reasoning and being understanding. I've tried being harsh and blunt. But just like our relationship, I can't help him with anything. He has to make a choice himself.

He's angry because he doesn't think I feel bad enough. (a theme for our arguements, me not feeling the way he thinks I should feel) He's angry because I don't want to talk about our relationship that is so over, over and over again. (which leads him begging for why we broke up and then me telling him again, with tears and yelling. I'm convinced he is continuously trying to get me to 'see the light' and get back together with him.) But I think mostly he's angry because I broke up with him. I just couldn't take it anymore. No matter how I felt, what I did, whatever explanation I gave, it wasn't good enough. I wasn't excited enough, I didn't think about him enough, why didn't I tell him earlier, why was I acting so strange, you never understand how I feel and I always understand how you feel, why can't you be what I need, my actions spoke for me and they say that I don't care enough, why can't you wait for me, you aren't sad enough, you don't share your feelings enough, you shouldn't talk to your friend about our business, I want a girl who is A, B, C, and on and on and on.

The emails go from lashing out for hurting him to him being fine, happy with his new life to him

being sorry he put me through so much, all in a single letter. They are so schizophrenic that I can't make sense of them. He goes from "I don't want to talk to you again" and when I say okay, I won't, he retorts with "Way to fight for us! I must not be worth fighting for!" It's like he speaks another language and in his parallel universe, he makes total sense and I'm the evil ice queen from hell who hates him and doesn't nothing but hurt him.

I should have known. Why are we all such fools in love? And not just cute, silly fools, but dumbass mutherfuckers. I made excuses and held back the truth to protect him when I should have been protecting myself. I should have ended it a thousand times. When he lost his job. When he told me he wouldn't be getting another one unless it was 'up to his standards'. That he never paid a dime in rent. When he would rather play video games than have sex. When he was asking to have more sex after pulling a stunt like that. When he

would start fights, I would apologize, and later think, "Wait, what just happened? I didn't do anything wrong!" Every time I thought, "I should stand up for myself right now" and didn't. That he was jealous and upset that I made more money than him, to that point of overcompensation for his feelings of inferiority. When I would stand up for myself and he would come one even stronger to push me back down. When he delayed the start up of his personal business again and again and again and it never came to be. Every time he made me feel guilty for doing something fun he couldn't do, like go to Paris or the Caribbean. Every time he thought I wasn't 'there' enough for him. Every time he failed to cope with his desperate situation. When he kept certain things secret from me. When he wouldn't tell me what he was doing all day while I was at work. When we would fight, I would apologize and he would still make me pay for it for days. When he lied about looking for a job. Whenever we would argue he would hammer down the same point over and over and over and over until I got so sick of it that I gave in. When he wouldn't let go of things. When he would continuously blame others for the problems in his life. That he thought enough money would solve all his problems. When he refused to move ahead in life. When he blamed me for not being supportive enough during the 'hardest time of his life'. When I was so frustrated with his behavior and he would turn it around and make it as if it were me that was the confused one causing problems in our relationship.

But I knew it was really over when he told me that he knew exactly how I felt about my brother being killed in the car accident. I argued that he would never know; his sister was still alive. He had never been so close to violent death before. He argued that the falling out with his sister was very similar to it and that he has had people he cared about die before. We went back and forth and while he went on about how he knew exactly what it felt like, I knew in my heart that this person was all wrong and disrespectful of me and my feelings, manipulative and that I'm not sure I've ever met anyone so damaged, with so many problems.

It's hard. This is someone I used to care about. But I have to be realistic and take care of myself. No matter what, I know I'm a good person. How I feel and what I think are not wrong or crazy or stupid. I just want to know, why did it take me so long to see it?

And by the way, why now does he decide to fuck with me? Right before my first date back out there this weekend? Someone's timing sucks a lot.

Scared to death

2009-03-10T13:56:00.000-07:00

I am a confident, beautiful woman.

I can flirt and talk up a storm and bend a man to my will.

But with everything that has happened, it has rocked my confidence ever so slightly. Dealing with the breakup, my grandfather getting remarried and my existential love crisis has messed with my head. Now, almost 3 months since the end of my last relationship I have been asked out on a date.

I'm trying to keep my cool...A date?! Oh lord, what do I do?! Do I even want to start dating anyone again? Am I ready? What if I'm not ready and I go out with this guy and he's great? What then? What if he's another freak I have to shake off? What if we get married and have babies with oddly shaped heads???

No! I'm not going to flip out. He seems like a very nice man. I'm just going to go out with him, keep my eyes peeled for any signs of neurosis or mental illness and have a lovely time. And I might pat him down to check for weapons. And do a background check. And bring my own weapon.

Dating is hard.

*facial twitch*

I'm going to hell...

2009-03-04T13:37:00.000-08:00

I think it was Mel Brooks who said "When a man dies, it's not funny. When a man dies by falling down a manhole, that's hilarious."

Death is part of life and sometimes, you just have to laugh.

So for your pleasure and to secure my place in hell, I give you...

Extracts from the 'guest book' at Queen Elizabeth's (the Queen Mum) funeral

"Whichever way you look at it, it just is not as exciting as Diana".
G.Williams, West Midlands.

"No matter how she felt, no matter the situation, she always wore a smile.
Just like a retard"
G. Hollins, East Sussex.

"It is such a loss, God has shit on our heads".
K. O'Neil, Inverness.

"Her death should act as a warning to others who think it is cool to experiment with drugs".
E. Franks, Cheshire.

"How refreshing to be able to mourn the death of a member of the Royal family without being accused of being homosexual".
J. Fletcher, High Wycombe.

And my personal favorite!
"She was a trooper and she never gave up. I remember one time she was visiting a school and I asked her if she would like to make a visit to the cloakroom before she left. 'No' she replied, 'I didn't give in to the Nazis and I won't give in to the bladder'.
That's how she was, a fighter, who refused to be beaten by anything.
She pissed herself later though,it was sickening".
B. Forrester, North Yorkshire.

Those Brits are just funny.
RIP Elizabeth. You were a tough old bird and you always had fabulous hats. Bravo!

The quotes were taken directly from www.findadeath.com. Not for the faint of heart at some times but always interesting and I just love Scott Michaels. Keep up the good work love!

I believe.

2009-03-03T10:12:00.000-08:00

I believe.

I believe in the seemingly impossible. The things that go unseen. The things people might point and laugh at me for, which they have. I believe.

I'm sure there will be many more little blogs about this topic. I'm in love with the strange things in life. But with Halloween long gone and people focus shifting back to less spooky things, I tend to stay in that creepy frame of mind.

I have been fascinated by ghosts since I heard my first ghost story. Things under sheets fly

through the air, shouting "BOO!" and making you jump. As I grew older I read more and more on the subject. There were less 'sheet' ghosts, more apparitions, orbs, spirits walking/floating, talking or turning on lights. Like a thin sheet between worlds, some might glimpse something that shouldn't be there.

There are orbs, spirits, apparitions, EVPs, spiritcoms, "ghostcams"or EVP TVs, mist, plasma or

just a feeling. Some can be easily faked, others not so much. America began it's interest in the other side in the late 1900's, when it was seen by most more of a hobby, less of "communing with the devil". A few hundred years earlier, if you were caught having a seance or even speaking with a spiritualist that would be enough for a hanging. Heck, Mary Todd Lincoln was a huge fan of spitualism and would often spend her money on psychics and hold seances trying to contact her dead loved ones. (She buried her mother when she was seven years old, three of her four children, as well as her husband before she finally passed in 1880.)

We have all felt it. You walk into a space and you get a feeling. You can't prove a feeling but you

know you are feeling something not normal. People walk into places like Auschwitz, the Tower of London or maybe just normal building. I know touring a house my parents were going to buy I got an uneasy, sad feeling for seemingly no reason. On another tour, accompanied by a friend of the family (she called herself "sensitive to certain things"), she stopped on a spot near the office and stated that something wasn't right. Someone had tried to kill herself here. She said we needed to smuge (use sage to cleanse) the house before purchasing it. Good thing we listened. Our first week in the house, our contractor came in to replace the carpet with wood floor. When pulling up the carpet near the office, he called us up to look at the very large, dark stain on the base boards, under the carpet.

There are so many ghost stories out there, none of which can be proven. One after another of the security guards at Alcatraz claim to hear or see things; men screaming out or cell doors closing. Twenty eight men died on the rock, either from suicide (5), murder(8) or natural causes(15).

In 1995, Paul McCarney claimed that while recording with the other two remaining Beatles he felt the presences of John Lennon in the studio.

President Teddy Roosivelt said that he would often see Lincoln in different rooms of the White house.

Vincent Price was flying home in 1958 when he glanced up to look out the window. There he saw, lit up on a cloud like the batman signal, "Tyrone Power is dead". His plane landed and he recieved the news that his friend was indeed dead from a heart attack during a swashbuckling sword fight scene at 44 years old. (Strangly enough, Power held his father Tyrone Power Sr, while he lay dying of, what else, a heart attack when he was 17 years old.)

And then there was June of 2007. My brother had been gone for about two months. I was back at work and having a really bad day. I couldn't stop crying and looking at his pictures and writing him letters. I was a mess. The phone began to ring. I was going to let someone else get it but after the third ring I realized that everyone I worked for was a lazy douchenozzle and picked it up myself. The line was dead. I was about to hang up when I heard something on the other end. It was music. It played the whole song, a song about taking it slow, one day at a time and how everything was going to be okay. Then it hung up. And that was it. Just a little reminder. I know it was him.

I know there is something out there. I don't know what exactly; I don't pretend to know the inner workings of our universe. But I do know there is something out there. I believe.

But mostly, I believe because I must. People die. People I love. People I felt had more to do, who left too soon. People that had no justice or peace. This is why I must believe there is more after we leave. Laugh and call me weak minded. I don't mind. I believe.

Check out these links for me info
http://www.alcatrazhistory.com
http://www.yourghoststories.com
http://www.findadeath.com

I respect you may believe differently. I'm hurting no one with my beliefs so if you're angry or want to argue, write someone else. This is something that cannot be changed in me so please don't try. And you should probably go read a different blog. Love and peace to you my friend.

Asking the universe

2009-03-02T08:29:00.000-08:00

Dear Universe,

I'm not ready yet but I wanted to just put it out there. I wanted to let you know the kind of man I want/need when the time comes and I'm ready to start dating again.

Physically
Remarkable eyes
Medium to full lips
Nice skin
Nice arms
Slightly above average to excellent muscle tone (no gut please)
Takes care of his physical being(exercises and no drugs!)
Generally "handsome"

Personality
Funny (this is a big one)
Treats me as if I hung the moon
Kind
Finds joy in the little things
Independent
Fully capable
Non-aggressive/non-violent
Non-narcissistic
Social, with good manners
Confident but not cocky or 'charming'

Mentally
Stable
Healthy sexual ideals and practices
Healthy relationships with his family and friends
Generally positive outlook on life
Excellent coping skills
Decisive
No addicts please

Everything else
Financially smart and stable
Makes more $ than me
Appreciates and loves his family
His parents are still married and happy
Clean criminal record
Has a car that runs, in good shape
College degree BA or higher
Has a career, not just a job
Singe, never married, no kids
Someone who is 'complete' without me
No military
Has his own place, ie not living in with his parents
Oh, and if he could not be allergic to cats, that would be great.

I know it's a tall order but I'm worth it.
Thanks so much and I really appreciate you and all you do.

Pixie

PS-Good job on last evening's sunset. It was awesome.

Odd Circumstance

2009-02-25T08:29:00.000-08:00

I must always remind myself that life only exists because of odd circumstance.

The strange things that happen in the world that make other things happen that makes other things... and so on.

If Hitler was killed in the first (organized) assassination attempt (by Hitler's own people) was on March 11, 1944, the war would have ended 14 months earlier, saving countless lives. Entire generations would exist. But that attempt failed. As did SEVENTEEN other, one as early as November 8, 1939 in which a disgruntled cabinetmaker who resented Nazi control over unions planted a bomb during one of Hitler's speeches. For some reason, Hitler left 8 minutes earlier than planned and avoided his own death. When the bomb exploded, it killed several Nazi party members and even injured Eva Braun's father. Can you imagine if Johann Elser had succeeded in killing Hitler in 1939. A mere 8 minutes cost the world so much.

And there is also Alicia Foster. She started acting when she was 3 but didn't recieve her big

break until she was 14. And all the while a young man was watching, pining over the beautiful girl on the silver screen. He began writing her love letters and following her around Yale's campus while she made her way to classes. She would call her at all hours and became increasingly creepy. John Hinckley Jr. decided he would have to kill then president Ronald Regan to get her attention. Jodie Foster would later state in court that they had no relationship, to which he flipped his shit and stated "I'll get you Foster!". Hinckley fired six times. Four were hit. Everyone survived. The press secretary was hit in the head and lost the use of the left side of his body. The last bullet he fired missed the president, hit the presidential limo, allowing the bullet to richote and hit Regan in the armpit, collapsing his lung. Think of all the things that had to happen for that moment to happen... Little Alicia's mom decides not to take her to the Coppertone commercial, that acting isn't what her child needs. Or perhaps John sought help for his increasingly delustional thoughts. Or even if the president had moved a little to the left, George Bush Sr. would have been president 4 years earlier than he was.

(By the way, Hinckley is currently living only part time in the mental hospital. He has 4 days/nights a week he's allowed to stay with his parents, under their supervision. Keep an eye out Jodie... If I were you I would not be cool with that...)

All to a simple twist of fate.

Now there are some who say, it doesn't matter, it all would have happened anyway. Hitler could have died in 1939, but someone just as bad would have taken his place and history would have taken the same path. Or if Jodie hadn't been a star, Hinckley would have found someone else to obsesse over and still have shot the president. I don't know. I'm no psychic.

I just think "What if?"

Lucky no more

2009-02-24T15:28:00.000-08:00

Little Tzatziki??

I'm thinking about getting a puppy.

My friend Lane has a 4 month old Yorkshire Terrier, Lucky, and with her crazy schedule she doesn't feel like she can take care of him like she should. So that's where I come it.

But the name "Lucky" would have to go...
These are the alternative names I've come up with so far:

Pickle
Chilli
Flapjack
Max
Frankie
Henry
Tevye
Peanut
Wedge
Lando
Rhett
Oliver
Riff
Roscoe
Harry
Chewie
Tzatziki
Stoli
Neville
Charlie

Any opinions?