So Long 2004...

And Good Riddance.

Jesus. I was just over at one of my favorite sites www.somethingawful.com and was reminded how many bad things happened in the world this year. And now a Tsunami? Nice.
"I think that God's got a sick sense of humor..." Right on Depechemode. Right the fuck on.

I'm looking to 2005 to be a better year. I'm turning 30. A benchmark.
I'm going to do my best to make it a good one.

But in case you weren't feeling old enough...

"The Superbowl Shuffle" turns 20 this year.


HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!!!!

Why am I here today?

Yep. Back to work. For two days. Stupid. But, I suppose it's nice to get back to the routine...even if it's only for a couple of days.

Let's talk about tolerance.

I'm now convinced I have become "The 30 year old, unmarried, eccentric daughter/granddaughter/sister/niece" of my family. Where once my quirks and expressions of self were "Charming" and "neat", they are now becoming "weird" and cause to ask "why isn't she married yet and when will she stop this nonsense and get her shit together?"

Case in point. Remember the awesome gift from Artgrl? The Indian outfit? Well, I wore it to Christmas dinner. Uck. Big mistake. Let me back up.

My aunt. My mother's sister. We've always had a kind of love-hate relationship. Well, more hate, I think. Here's my theory as to why. My aunt kind of hates my mother. I remind her of my mother, therefore, she sort of hates me. Also, my grandmother (in the past) spoiled the shit out of me. I was "her rosebud". My aunt has always been closer to her mom than her dad, and I think she resented the attention I got. It's ridiculous and childish. But whatever.

Anyway, at Christmas, it often becomes a duel between my mother and aunt. Who can talk the loudest. I usually end the evening with a blinding headache because my aunt has no inside voice.

She's also the queen of beating a dead horse to a bloody pulp, running it over with a car, burying it, realizing she's still not done with it, exhuming the corpse and beating it some more with a stick.

Horse of choice at Christmas 2004? My outfit.
Biggest (and most intolerant) jab of the evening:
"What 7-11 are you working at?"

And then everytime I opened a gift
"Sorry it's not Indian"

HAHAHAHAHAA! Yeah, that stopped being funny shortly after I walked in the door. Now I just want to punch you in the face.

Then my grandfather chided me for "talking to my aunt that way."

Yeah. Awesome.
Supposedly I'm supposed to have thick skin in this family.
Um. Hello? I'm MEDICATED. Clearly I don't.

I love when my mother's family treats me with such respect. It's awesome. My favorite.

Merry Christmas...

Anonymous said...
you bitch too much about everything... Smile for a change. It's Christmas time.
12:09 PM

Um, yeah, so, it's the XANAX FILES, dude. It's like saying Metal is too loud maybe they should soften it up a little. Jesus.
But read on... I'm not all piss and vinegar...

Speaking of JC, Happy Birthday!!!

In all seriousness, I absolutely love Christmas. It is really the one time of year I can always count on to be happy. I love the lights, I love the trees, ornaments, colors, smells, the food... and yes, even a little snow. I love it.

Christmas at my house is pretty awesome. My mom gets a 13 to 17 foot tree every year. It's absolutely spectacular when it's all done. This year is no exception and it smells pretty kick ass too.

And this year... I got the best. present. ever. The Boy is home. He totally faked me out. He was all "Yeah, I can't get a pass this weekend. Sucks to be so close and not be able to get there." (He's at Ft. Riley in Kansas).
So, I'm sitting in the living room at my mom's just hanging out... and generally, well, hanging. Damn you vodka. Damn you to hell. Anyway, I'm just sitting talking to my mom and all of a sudden
"HEYA WEAK!!" Dude comes running up the stairs. I just about had a stroke. So kick ass. So, this year I can continue the tradition of busting into his room in the morning "Merry Christmassing" all over the place and shaking him until he gets his ass up and we can go open presents.

Big big big smiles all around this year.

Oh, also, Bravo has been airing Dirty Dancing all day.
'Nuff said.

Merry Christmas y'all. I hope Santa is awesome to you and I hope everyone has a really wonderful day with family and friends.

Hugs and whatnot...

FUCK IT'S COLD

No seriously. I cannot get warm. Maybe I'm dying inside.

Anyhoo...
Hope everyone got their shopping done! I'm such a freak when it comes to Christmas shopping. Gift giving for me is an extremely personal experience. It's an opportunity to show someone that you are interested in them and that you pay attention to their lives...ie. Artgrl's kick ass gift to me this year.

However, it can be a curse to get caught up in the quest for the perfect gift. A lot of the time I just have to go wandering and just let the universe guide my wallet.

And then there are the people who are just impossible to shop for and I invariably end up going the way of the Gift Certificate or "Gift Card" as the kids are calling em these days with their video games and sugar drinks...

And then there's the Grab Bag option. I know a few big families who do this simply because there are too many damn people to buy damn presents for and not enough damn duckets with which to damn buy them. But, I gotta tell you. I'm not down with that. In that case, I probably would just go Gift Card-because who knows who the hell I'm buying for? It's not like Uncle Leo is going to enjoy the beautiful Pashmina I got on sale at Nordstrom Rack.
I don't have an Uncle Leo.

So, thus begins the Christmas binge. And by binge, I mean in every sense of the word. Ugh. And then it just goes right on into the New Year. 2005.
Jebus.
I'm gonna be 30.

A Splendid Time Was Had By All...

Wow.
So, the Get-Down at the L&L Ranch was a rousing success... (Sorry there were so many dudes there people, but apparently Artgrl and I only have male friends.)
Artgrl and I came away with ornaments, cookies, SILVER PATRON (which I discovered under the tree and have no idea who gave that to us... THANK YOU SANTA!) and Artgrl presented me with a Christmas gift that made me cry. She gave me a beautiful Salwar Kameez (Indian Tunic and Pants), earrings, a bracelet, and 2-count em TWO Bollywood movies.

Why would these gifts make me cry? Cuz the girl pays attention. You see, gentle readers, I have an unexplained obsession with all things Indian. I'm guessing it all started with late nights, drunk (or not), eating Mac and Cheese (Kraft), flipping channels, and landing on the International Channel. There, in all their glory...Indian Music Videos. Dude. Seriously. They're awesome.

Here's a plot rundown...as most of them are the same.
There's a palatial Indian estate. It's always sunny. And breezy...to facilitate the billowing of all the yards of silk adorning just about anything that moves.
There's a family. There's a daughter. She's spit-fire, that one, and mom and dad just DON'T know what to do with her. Dad gets angry, mom soothes him with a knowing smile and some food. Enter our Hero. A dashing young lad...sometimes in traditional garb...sometimes in Western garb...but always dreamy and any time a girl sees him she passes out dramatically. Except for the daughter. She's too wily for those shenanigans and we spend the next 5 minutes watching chasing (literally...he chases her for about 5 minutes) courtship that goes on between these two. Suddenly, UH-OH! Daughter is late for the show/festival/wedding or whatever other event involves a group of beautiful Indian women dancing in saris with the aforementioned billowy silk!! Seriously. It's ridiculous...this billowing. Ok, so, Daughter dances with her 45 cousins (who do indeed all live in the palatial estate). She's singing to the Hero, the Hero is watching her. Cut to dad standing off to the side, arms crossed, looking very cross himself. Mom continues to soothe. Cut to elderly Aunt/Grandmother figure who nods "knowingly". Everyone dances, boy and girl are in love, and everyone lives happily ever after. In billowy silk.

I love this shit. LOVE IT! Plus, the dancing, is incredible. I'm not kidding. Billowy silk aside, it's some of the best choreography you'll ever see.

So, last night was all about watching my first ever full length Bollywood feature. Y'all, I couldn't finish it. By the time I went to bed, we were clocking in at 3+ hours. I HAD to sleep. I forgot that the Indians REALLY love movies and they're usually really long. There's even an Intermission section in this badboy.

Anyway... that's the weekend, and a crash course on Indian Pop Culture.
Tune in soon for a review and Plot summary of this movie...if it indeed ends.


EDIT: THANK YOU GUY/SANTA FOR THE TEQUILLA. Aparently, I was told three times about your lovely gift... I'm medicated.

The Continuing Adventures of L & A

This weather brings me back to the good ol' days.... (insert wavy focus here to fade to...)

So, the year was 1991-92...I can't remember. All I know is that it was winter. A & I at that time were dating two guys who were best friends. It was highschool. It was the weekend.

We were told by our men that we would be going to "a friend's house." This friend lived somewhere around Des Plaines. If only I knew then what I know now...I would have foreseen what was to come. Nothing good ever comes out of Des Plaines. Bad things happen there. But Des Plaines it was to be and we set out in my boyfriend's Cavalier.

A couple things you should know about this car. His dad bought this car with absolutely ZERO options because "it's just getting me to and from work. What do I need all that stuff for?" Apparently, FM radio was just to FANCY SCHMANCY for ol' dad, so the music in J's car consisted of tapes. Many, many tapes that he spent hours making. As a matter of fact, back in those days, mixes were an art form. We named them. We built them to be situation and event specific. We spent so much time in our cars that it was necessary to have proper driving music...But I digress.

OK, so. We head on out to this guy's house. Now, I can't remember his name, so we'll call him Dave. Dave had his own apartment. He was like 22...which to us seemed kinda old and...well kinda creepy. Added to his creepines was the appearance of the apartment itself. He had rusty beige carpet, stained. He had A couch. Clearly given to him by mom after it sat in the basement TV room for years, serving as the SOFA OF SIN... a brownish beige affair with a very thick weave... very popular in the mid 80's. And lastly...a plastic "end table" with a black and white checkerboard top. There MAY have been a folding chair... I don't remember. And that was the apartment... except for the bedroom, which we'll get to in a second. Minds OUT of the gutter please!!

Anyhoo... there we were... a bunch of 16 and 17 year olds in this 22 year old dude's sleezy Ick- Den with a couple of HIS friends. To drink? Johnny Walker. And water. Well, I had never had Johnny Walker and stayed away from it as long as I possibly could..but the temptation to get a buzz on was just too great...so, I inquired about this particular potable.
"So, what? Do we do shots of this?"
"Yep."
"Ok, you have anything to chase this with?" (How cool am I knowin' the lingo!)
"Nope...there's water."
"Uh, well, ok!"

The first went down bad, but not as bad as I thought. I always build things up in my head and then when it's not so bad, I'm all over it like...well... screw the metaphor. Suffice it to say I drank a lot. And then thought taking a hit off the joint going 'round was a FANTASTIC idea. Now, lest you think I was the only dumbass in this posse... A was keeping up with me shot for shot.

At this point, I was feeling a bit dizzy, so I decided to go lie down. I went into the bedroom..more brown...carpet, bedspread...everything. It was like bad 70's porn. I think the closets were even mirrored. So, I lie down. Then A comes in and SHE lies down. Now we're both lying down talking about how dizzy we are when suddenly her boyfriend comes in, takes one look at us and says:
"You guys, in the bathroom, NOW."
And I'm all like,
"What are you talkin' about ...I just need to lay here for a min..." I couldn't finish said sentence as I was being unceremoniously lifted from the bed and deposited next to the toilet. Why did they think I needed to go to the bathroom? And then I hear A retching next to me.
"Dude, how'd you get in here?"
"I dunno... but I'm glad I'm here now..BLARRRRAGGGDG"
"Yeah, me too... move over."

So, there we were. Two drunk 16 year old chicks sharing one shrine to the porcelain god. I locked the door. We weren't going anywhere. When we couldn't trade off, one went to the sink. It was a Tour De Force.

Then the pounding.
"dude... is that my head?"
"no, I think it's the door."
"GO AWAY! GIRLS PUKING!"
"Ladies, let us in. You have to go. LC is going to miss her curfew." (See Curfew Story)

Apparently, we didn't move fast enough, because the next thing we know the door has been kicked open, someone is putting my shoes back on my feet and I'm being half dragged, half carried out of the apartment and down some stairs.

Into the car. My boyfriend is driving. And not in such a way as to make the ride easier for me. No going easy on the turns, breaking fast... the whole nine. What a dick! God! I just lay there listening to REM hoping to God I could make it home without yacking all over the backseat.

We made it. A and I stumbled into the house. Somehow, she had recovered faster than I and was taking care of me as I mumbled things like "He hates me now.. he thinks I suck...I have to call him... BLAARgh".

I don't remember going to bed. I don't think I did. I think I slept by the toilet.
Story of my frikkin' life...

Cold Enough for Ya?? Heh Heh!!

God I hate that. Yes. It is. It IS, in fact, COLD ENOUGH OUTSIDE!!! (Thanks to George Carlin for the inspiration.)

Anyhoo.. yes, Winter has decided to bitch slap all of us upside the head and remind us all that come January we're in for the beating of a lifetime.

Why do I live here?

Oh, yeah, the Lake. The Skyline. The people (for the most part). My family. Friends.
I dunno though, a warm climate is looking better and better as I get older and older.

Jesus. I'm talking about the weather.

Something must be up...

Hmmmmm...

What shall I bitch about today?


Or how bout expected checks not coming on time?

Or how bout stupid feelings getting in the way of logical thought?

Or how bout the color gray? Fucking winter.

Excuse me, it's time for my medication.

Hey it's Open Mic again...

Yup.. I'll be there.

But now...I'd like to reprint for you the pivotal moment in "Moment of Truth:A secret between Friends" as written by one of my readers and fellow Lifetimer on Sunday....I've colored it Bile Orange in honor of all our Bullimic Friends out there...

Anonymous said...
(Aaaaaand…Scene: Bedroom)(Linda Carter cradles her emaciated daughter Lexie (aka “Lexie Anorexie”) who has passed out after eating a chicken nugget/throwing up/crying a lot/ evoking sympathetic Casio keyboard music. In the previous scene Carter herself has just done the trademark move of crying, putting her hands over her face and sliding her back down a wall to a crumpled, defeated position. Truly, these are the moments that put the “special” in Lifetime Network Special Feature. Linda Carter: (speaking to the passed out Lexie (aka Skeletor)- I remember when you were a baby. I remember how I used to hold you and how I used to nurse you. You would just nuzzle up to me and start sucking like a pro. And I remember that there was always this huge pressure inside of me and that once you were done, that pressure… it would be all gone. And when you were finished you’d look up at me and give me this sleepy smile and I’d put you over my shoulder and your little tiny face would be right next to my face. And I'd pat your little back until you let out this big beautiful burp….(This is where I stopped listening and went into my room and cried because I am unable to bear a child and thusly will never be able to spew such ridiculous tripe.)

Happy Happy!

Oh Meredith Baxter Birney...

Lifetime Movies.

A regular Sunday activity over at the L&L Ranch. This week's morsel of happiness...
"Moment of Truth: A Secret Between Friends" Featuring none other than our favorite Amazonian Goddess...Linda "Wonder Woman" Carter.

Fabulously bad. And Lifetime Long. I think we were in 3 hours before we finally cried it mercy and shut it off. All about eating disorders. And a girl who's name was Lexie and freaked the fuck out if anyone DARED call her Alexis. She was anorexic. And Bullimic. (sic).

And I'd invite one of my loyal readers to please add the film defining monologue in the comments section at his leisure.

Excuse me, I just had a cracker. I have to throw up now.

So Check THIS shit out...

So, I go to the open mic at Crush last night, and it's deadsville (I'm doing my best to work 1950's vernacular back into mainstream). Strange. But whatever. So, I'm up like 5th or something. I get up there and I'm pretty sober. I've had maybe 3 beers since 7 and it's now 9. So, yeah...no real liquid courage. Which, really, I think is a good thing. I can do all my other performing sober, so I should be able to play the damn guitar and sing damn sober. So. I decided to add to my "risking" by playing the HARDEST SONG I KNOW. "Christmas Song" by Dave Matthews. I was totally nervous. Add to that the way the guy had me set up sound-wise was funky from the beginning. I couldn't move around much. So, I start. And then I go to sing the first note... fucking big blast of feedback. Awesome. After a not-so-quick recovery by myself and the sound guys I continue. But I was already in my head and summarily doomed. I kept fucking up the guitar part-you have to understand, this song is really hard to play...especially when you have short fingers like me. And not only is it hard, but it kind of hurts. Anyway... saving grace was that my voice was pretty on. Thank God.

Ok, so, second song, I decide to go with the Christmas Theme and played "The Christians and the Pagans". La la I start playing, but... something just doesn't sound right. I look at my finger postions as I'm playing, yeah, that's ok, but there is a string that is completely out of tune... so, guess what? I'm halfway through the song and I just stop and say "Excuse me...there is something very wrong here." I step away play an E, everything's fine there. So I step back up and start again from where I left off.. and at this point I'm kind of just laughing at myself. Because I'm just mortified. It's almost all guys in there... it's dead, and a friend of mine was there. So, I just kept on playing thinking to myself "I must sound like the biggest moron up here."

Third song I go by an old standard of mine: "Come Away With Me - Norah Jones...mostly because I can sing the shit out of that song and at this point I really need something to make me feel better. So, I sang it. And still my playing sounded like shit from my perspective. I finish, and just go "I'm Done." And walked off the stage. It sucked. However, everyone was all "Wow that was great..bla bla..." but I knew better. I couldn't figure out what the hell went wrong.

Well, cut to this morning. I'm telling my story to a musician friend of mine and he's nodding like he knows something. And after I plead "Am I crazy???" He says no. What happens sometimes is the sound guy will mic the guitar in such a way that the low-end (bass frequency) is set way to high and it creates interference which in turn makes what comes out of the stage monitors sound completely out of tune. Comforting? Yes. Am I still pissed? Yeah. However... lesson learned. As in theatre when somethign goes wrong...one must just fake it and assume the audience doesn't notice.

Ok cut back to last night, and I'm talking to the bartender and I ask him why it's so dead... it's usually packed in there. And he says "Well, the guy that used to run this for me left and he emailed everyone and told them that we weren't doing this anymore." Funny part is, I ran into that guy last Saturday at Carol's and he told me that he had had a falling out with the owner and was leaving and starting another room. He seemed a little angry about it, but I never expected that he would sabotage an entire room because of it. I was absolutely appalled. So, they have to start all over from scratch. My mission next week: Hit the open mics I know of and invite a lot of people to join me on Wednesday...

So, I extend the invitation to you, my 2 or 3 readers, to come out and drink 2.50 bottles at Crush on Halsted and Diversey on Wednesday night around 9, and listen to some cool music. I have a friend who plays there who is hilarious and definitely worth the trip out.

And I'm spent...

HEY! How bout a BLOG ENTRY!

HEY NORM! IF I WAS A HOTDOG, WOULDJA EAT ME?

That's for the Lovely Stringergrl.

So...............

Winter. The Ultimate Discontent.
What I wouldn't do for a beach, a towel, and sun.
Not a whole lot.