Also:

Where is it Goddamned written that ANYONE in their right mind wants to hear the voice of a pedophile first thing in the morning? A pedophile talking about how sexy he thinks a 6 year old beauty queen is?

Yet another reason the media can just fuck right the fuck off.

Eat Me, Seasons Or: I'm Feeling Rather Shirty.

So, apparently it's Fall. (Though the Weatherman won't say it.) No warning, no gradual decline, and no waiting until after goddamned Labor Day.
Fucking shit.
Low 70s and raining all into next goddamned week.

There was a time long ago when I'd get excited about the change of season. I'd say carefree things like
"I'm so excited to wear jeans again! School Supplies! Kick Ass! Hey, Halloween is just around the corner! (Ok, this is still kind of cool) and I LOVE the smell of all the leaves!!"
Now I only recognize the creeping pall of gray and cold and wet days to come.
Gone are the halcyon days of new shoes and Back to School.
Well, screw you, Autumn.
I'm NOT putting on a pair of goddamned socks or a long-sleeved shirt until WELL into September. I don't care. I'm taking a fucking stand.
Son of a Bitch, I'm not ready for Winter! It's not fair!
This Summer was too short.
I need to move.
Texas maybe?
I hear Ausitn is pretty kick ass.

LA? I just can't bring myself to do LA— Where everytime a light changes, someone's soul dies. (I used to say "Actor", but no. It's everyone. No one is immune to the soul-eating menace of LA.)
I can't sell my soul for a tan and open-toed shoes.
And yet, one more reason to shake my fist at the Universe.
Is there such a thing as "Disgruntled Elbow"?

(Fun Fact: "Shirty" is a synonym for "Disgruntled".)

I Watched the News Today, Oh Boy....

Can someone please fucking tell me why it's taken nearly 2 goddamned weeks to figure out that the asshole extradited (sic? You'd think I could use a spellchecker, right?) from Asia (Thailand? See? This is how much I fucking cared about this oversaturating piece of news) wasn't Jon Benet's killer?
All last week it was "The suspect is being extradited to Colorado. Officials aren't sure of the integrity of his confession." And the whole time I'm yellling at the fucking tv "DNA!!! DN FUCKING A!! We can solve this right now!!"
Well, the DNA came back.
No dice.
See? Wasn't that easy???
I'm going on-line today to see how long a DNA test actually takes.

(EDIT! DNA Tests can be done in as little as 3 days... 3 DAYS!!!!!)

Because this was rigoddamnediculous. Even if it takes 2 weeks to come back, here's how they could have handled things:

"Suspect in Jon Benet murder is undergoing a DNA test. We'll let you know when the results come back. Seriously, sit tight, we'll let you know. Go pay attention to something else now."

End of Discussion until we get an answer.

Today is the the Anniversary of Katrina. I'm glad they've dropped the Superdome speculation footage. The alleged rapes, murders and riots... Talk about a situation the media grabbed and ran to Texas, dropped it on GW's step with a flaming bag of shit, and back with. It was atrocious to be sure, but get your facts straight before you start telling stories, Reporters.
I have a friend at work whose family lost their home. They're living in Kentucky now. It's really awful. My heart goes out to everyone who was affected by the hurricane.

And Starbucks is expanding in Chicago!! 200 some-odd new stores. Because, you know, we don't have enough of those in this town.
"She was in the Starbucks across the street from the Starbucks I was in..."

Fucking sigh.

Fuck You Internet!

OK, why is it that I cannot find the complete list of Emmy Winners from last night?

Here's what I've searched:

2006 Emmy Award Winners
Emmy Awards 2006 Winners

Do I really need to get any more fucking specific than that?

Then why do I keep getting links for articles from fucking JULY???

EDIT:

Fuck you Emmys.
Just fuck you right up the butt.

Where in the F is Rescue Me?
And BARRY FUCKING MANILOW?

Hollywood, you are dead to me.

Woo Hoo!

An end of the summer cold!
Awesome.
And it's raining today.
Double-Goddamned Awesome!

There is simply nothing better than the gradual tightening of one's chest as it prepares to become a self-contained moucus (SIC-I tried it 7 different ways and now I just don't give a shit.) factory.

HOWEVER I did have a pretty kick ass dream last night.

I was at a random concert in like, Iowa or something. I say Iowa because I was treated to a dream-arial view of the area, and it was all fields and silos. Anyway, I hear one of my favorite Mr. Bungle tunes playing and I rush in to the auditorium dumbfounded, because for some reason, it's the Dave Matthews Band covering it. Which makes only the littlest of sense as there's a sax player in DMB. ANYHOO, I get right up front because nobody but me and a few others know the song...and I'm all singing along and Dave notices me and smiles because I am SO TOTALLY COOL.

Then, afterwards, he asked me if I wanted to jam with them.
I said yes.
And we did.
And it was fuckin' kick ass.

Creeping Death

"This death isn't creeping at all, it's clipping along quite nicely!"

This hangover however, is taking its sweet damn time.
The Creeping Hangover.

Wake up:
"Hey, I'm a little woozy..nothing a shower and a cup of coffee won't fix!"

Right around 10:30:
"Man, I'm not feeling to hot, I really should drink some water."

After an hour of making tedious changes to a point-roll banner:
"Good Christ. I Need a goddamned nap."

Right now:
"Is is bad when I have the shakes?"

Just Don't Photograph the Bottoms of My Feet...

So said Marilyn Monroe shooting her famous nude pin-ups.
I had the honor of modelling for my good friend and photographer Leslie Kerrigan.
Empowering,
Validating,
And just plain feelin' fuckin' pretty.


Here are some highlights.

Some More...

My Vigilanti-ism Starts Now.

While at dinner last night with a friend, we were discussing the whole "that's not your bike" phenomenon. We came up with a solution.

Dudethatsnotyourbike.com

Here's how we see it.

We troll the city looking for examples of ne'er-do-wells riding around on some child's broken dreams and...well, our first thought was of me just running at them screaming "That's not your bike!" and tackling them...but cooler heads prevailed and we settled on taking photos of these people, putting them up on the site, and enabling folks to view the pictures in the hopes that they spot their stolen bike. Then, we forward the photo to the local authorities along with the location of where the photo was taken and let the law take it from there.

I think it's a fantastic idea.

It'll never work...but a girl can dream her dreams can't she?

I know it's a cop out

To use someone else's poetry to express how one is feeling...especially when one is a writer.
But. I've always considered this one of my themesongs, and in light of recent weeks, it's pretty much an accurate
blueprint. This is how it feels when my meds aren't working.

Oh look at how she listens
She says nothing of what she thinks
She just goes stumbling through her memories
Staring out on to Grey Street

She thinks, “Hey,
How did I come to this?
I dream myself a thousand times around the world,
But I can’t get out of this place”

There’s an emptiness inside her
And she’d do anything to fill it in
But all the colors mix together - to grey
And it breaks her heart

How she wishes it was different
She prays to God most every night
And though she swears it doesn’t listen
There’s still a hope in her it might

She says, “I pray
But they fall on deaf ears,
Am I supposed to take it on myself?
To get out of this place”

There’s loneliness inside her
And she’d do anything to fill it in
And though it’s red blood bleeding from her now
It feels like cold blue ice in her heart
When all the colors mix together - to grey
And it breaks her heart

There’s a stranger speaks outside her door
Says take what you can from your dreams
Make them as real as anything
It’d take the work out of the courage

But she says, “Please
There’s a crazy man that’s creeping outside my door,
I live on the corner of Grey Street and the end of the world”

There’s an emptiness inside her
And she’d do anything to fill it in
And though it’s red blood bleeding from her now
It’s more like cold blue ice in her heart
She feels like kicking out all the windows
And setting fire to this life
She could change everything about her using colors bold and bright
But all the colors mix together - to grey
And it breaks her heart
It breaks her heart
To grey

-Dave Matthews

That's Not Your Bike!

When I was but a wee lass I had a bike. This bike was quite possible the best bike in the world. It was a schwinn, it was lavendar, it had a banana seat and upright handle bars and that seat had flowers on it.

One night, that bike was stolen. Along with my neighbor's bike. We were devestated. A child's bike being stolen is just as bad as an adult car theft. My bike. My beautiful lavender girly mode of transportation...a unicorn one day, a pegasus the next was being sullied by some criminal.
Not having a bike meant many things...no riding to the pool. No riding to friends's houses. Basically, a shit load of walking, which I'm sorry. at that age just wasn't cool.

It came to pass that my bike was found. A neighbor found both bikes stashed in her backyard. I can't even communicate the elation I felt. Until one of my mom's boyfriends fucked it up with his car.

Anyway.

My point.

This morning at the bus stop, I witnessed a young man riding a bike that was CLEARLY too small for him. I thought, "Is this some weird trend?" as I'd seen this phenomenon on numerous occasions. And then it hit me. That bike was probably stolen!
All those! bikes were. And now, children...someplace are mourning the loss of their symbol of freedom...their race cars, their space ships, THEIR unicorns and pegasuses..es.

Broke my damn heart.

So... listen up thieves! I'm on to you!
You're not fooling anyone with your little bike...and by little bike I mean some poor child's broken spirit. And dreams.
How can you sleep at night?

Facing the Music

Well, on the bus this morning, as I was reading one of my favorite books "I, Lucifer"...wherefore the quote from yesterday came, I came to a conclusion. One that I've been avoiding for a while.
The Big D that rhymes with T which stands for Trouble is back.
My meds have stopped working.
"But, LC, why would that conclusion need to be avoided?"
Great question, gentle reader, and I will answer it, forthwith!

One of the perks of suffering from Depression is the belief that it's all your fault:
I'm not working hard enough to get well.
I'm being lazy.
I should be doing more.
I should be doing better.
There is no reason I should be feeling this way!
Fucking great. I'm still fucking broken. Fantastic.
Ad nauseum.

This has been going on for some time now, and because I've been trying to avoid feeling like this is all my fault, I've been trying to avoid admitting that the Depression is back en masse. With a vengence.
So, it's time to make a phonecall.
Suck.
It's probably time to change medications.
Double Suck.

The good news is, and this news is what drove me to just fucking be honest with myself already, is that today is the day I will start feeling better.

So, Pro-tip, fellow sufferers of The Sad:
If you hear your "Little Voice" repeating any of the above messages for more than 2 weeks at a time,
Hie you hence to your Doctor! There stands some medicine to make you feel better.

OK, Shakesploitation needs to open soon. Are you kidding me with all these Shakespeare references???

Tag!

The instructions are as follows:

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 4 sentences on your LJ along with these instructions.
5. Don’t you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.
6. Tag five people.

OK this is weird because I'm actually ON that page right now in this book:

He imagines broad, deflated breasts with wine gum nipples, old-woman flesh in the armpits, an arsehole with a history...Since becoming 'a writer' Gunn believes such warped or distended liasons are within his scope (he's going to love Harriet), are part of his duty, in fact, along with bowling around the West End drunk at four in the morning and weaking overcoats that reek of Oxfam.
Then, God help him, 'A Grace of Storms'.
'I think you're making ir awfully hard for yourself with a book this long,' she said to him, at their last protracted but emphatically unerotic lunch after she'd read the monstrous tome.
'Yeah, Gunn said, 'but when a book's GOOD you WANT it to go on forever, don't you?'

F-ing Sh*t F**k!

Ok, I've had it with these mornings waking up like I've got Eeyore on my back reminding me how futile putting forth effort towards happiness and contentment can be.
"It's useless. You're just gonna end up unhappy with whatever it is you were goin' for anyway." And please, by all means, Eeyore, bring that raincloud with you.
Little Bastard.
It's what makes me so goddamned cranky. And for no reason either.
I've got really nothing to complain about.
I'm healthy.
My family loves me.
My friends are wonderful.
But there's something missing.
And we ALL know what that is.

To be honest, I'd just love to NOT miss it, you know? To just be content with how things are exactly the way they are.
But that's the human condition really. A need for better. For more. And when apathy or lethargy prevent the pursuit of more, then guilt sets in as we say to ourselves, "I'm not doing enough of (insert whatever here). I must suck."
Wouldn't it be great to just look around and say,
"That'll do, Pig, that'll do."


I gotta do some charity work. Get some perspective or something.

SPEAKING OF WHICH.

I had a facination conversation with 2 friends of mine regarding racism where they grew up.
Now, as many of you (all 5 of my readers) know, I have some very strong views on racism, reverse racism, affirmative action, and what I thought was (until now) unnecessary alienation on both sides of the issue.
Well. These two friends of mine grew up in relatively rural parts of the world and the things they told me had my mouth agape throughout the entire conversation. Some highlights:

-In one town, when they were forced to finally draw their county lines, they actually drew it in such a way that it went around the property of a black family so that the county could boast that they had no black people in the county.
-In this same town, until recently, there were still signs that said "No Blacks After Sundown" or something to that effect.
-Both friends knew versions of Jingle Bells and Eeny Meeny Miney Mo that featured violence towards Black people (and used the nasty word.) These songs were sung on playgrounds.
-Openly gay people "disappeared" or were found dead on a pretty regular basis.
-Both knew where Klan meetings were held.

I was absolutely horrified. I grew up in a pretty nice suburb of Chicago. We were taught all about racism and how wrong it was. I had never seen or heard of any of what my friends had been exposed to.
Here, all this time, I've been soap-boxing about how the presence of racism isn't as bad as everyone thinks, and that we need to start moving away from knee-jerk reactions to it. And maybe in some cases, yes, we do. But I stand pretty much corrected.

If my friends...contemporaries of mine, and in BOTH cases younger than I can tell me stories like I heard yesterday, then there is still a very big problem.
And, well, let it never be said that I can't admit that I've been wrong. Not only have I been wrong, but I've been ignorant of a lot of what is in fact going on in this country, world, and universe.

Pasties and A Bike Ride

Well, kids, I did it. I went down to the pasties. It wasn't NEARLY as scary as I thought it was going to be. No, what scared me was whether or not I was going to remember all the damn dances. Let's just say I did much better towards the latter half of the show.

Anyhoo, today I decided to come out to G-view and to ride my bike from the L station in Wilmette to mom's. 6.2 miles. Just about the distance I'll need to go to work. It took me around an hour. Sweet.

It was odd riding home. I rode through both of my childhood towns. I found myself guaging the distance by kidmap method. So, when I got to Wagner road, in my head it was "OK, it's as long as it takes to ride to Michele's from here."
I found myself riding like a kid too...it's funny how your body goes right back into something.

Anyway, boring stuff to you, but quite nice and relaxing to me.

Good weekends everyone!

Pain

Oh dear sweet Baby Jesus. SERIOUSLY.
Here I am double over at my desk waiting for the Advil to kick in.
It feels like burning, my lower half.
I know I talk about my "magical woman time" a lot. But please understand, because of the varying degrees of pain I feel each month, it's a big part of my life.
Every muscle in my body is aching from being clenched against the pain.
The Advil helps.
Thank God it's today and not tomorrow.
There's no dancing through this pain.

IN other news...
I had me some therapy this week. I go every 2, and sometimes I feel like I'm really accomplishing something, and other times, it just feels like a total wash. But this week, I walked away with a task. Well, two really...in one.
The Letting Go we talked about earlier this month and within that, not working so hard in relationships with the boys.
Let me 'splain.
No, is too much, let me sum up...

Basically, what happens is, if I manage to get myself involved with someone to the point where we are "dating" read: a couple, I embark on a mission:
OPERATION WORK AS HARD AS GODDAMNED POSSIBLE TO MAKE THE RELATIONSHIP WORK
I'm quite good at it.
To a point.
And this is what I learned this week.
I do not need to work so hard because it's only as effective as the other party's committment to the relationship allows it to be.
'The Fuck?
In other words, it is quite possible that my complete and committed willingness to approach a relationship in a COMPLETELY open manner (this means working out problems thoroughly, being completely honest about feelings all the time, and actively finding solutions to problems) might be a bit "off-putting" to certain people. Which isn't to say that I need to change per-se. What it means is, that my committed willingness might be a sign of holding on too tight and working too damn hard.
So.
And dammit, Les, you said this to me 3 or 4 years ago in your old place when we were having a Lifetime morning and I was obsessing about motorcycle guy:

I need to let the other person drive once in a while.

And not for them.

For me.

So that I don't have a nervous breakdown by the time I'm 35.

How's that for coming full circle??

It's going to be very difficult for me to do this. I'm a problem solver. Who am I kidding? I'm a goddamned problem magnet.
And I'll tell you...a couple weeks ago, when talking to an ex (The Douche) and he revealed some career stuff to me, I felt myself slip IMMEDIATELY into "Let's figure this issue out. How can I advise him?"
AND WE'RE NOT EVEN DATING ANYMORE.

So. No more. Well, hopefully less and less, as this is a 31 year old habit.
It's time to sit in the passenger seat, with my legs up and barefeet out the window doing 65 down the interstate.
I think we can all agree that THAT feels pretty damn good.

Dancing is Afoot!

Friday night I go on as an understudy in the role I originated last year in the burlesque show Flaming Dames 2, Talk Dirty to Me.
My local peeps..
Come on out!
See the New Millennium Link for ticket info.

Goddamnit.

Ok, this whole Mel Gibson bullshit.
Look, the guy was drunk, he's a Catholic, and Australian.
Um....Russel Crowe?
Anyway, he got busted saying some pretty shitty things about a group of people who happen to have a fancy word to describe the racism/creedism involved in negative sentiments toward this particular group of people.

Hollywood...the bastian of political, philosophical and ethical standards has been weighing in. Rob Schneider took out a full page ad a la the McCarthy Era denouncing Mr. Gibson, proclaiming that he will NEVER work with the man EVER.
Okaaaaaaaay,
The Dixie Chix have weighed in. I don't know what they have to say as I really don't give a flying fuck about what a country group, rock groupor folk group has to goddamned say about it. I'm waiting for fucking Bono to start some political movement geared towards making the world aware of "Unfair Things Said About People Sometimes".

This whole fucking thing is just another outlet for folks to have an opportunity to look down from on high at the people who got busted saying the things that everyone else has felt in some way, shape or form at some time in their lives, and feel relieved that it wasn't them. That's where all the judgement comes from.
We judge that which we hate and fear in ourselves.

In all fairness to Mel, and I give credit to my friend mpjedi for saying it first among my circle, the fact is, that Israel has been making some waves lately. And even now, I'm choosing my words carefully as anything remotely anti-Israel immediately gets twisted into that fancy word again. It's funny. You never see a big fat fucking uprising when the Catholics are attacked for a few bad apples in the priesthood, or the Fundamentalists and the Christian Coalition and the Intelligent Design folks who are constant targets of derision and ridicule. But, the majority of them are white, so, well, it's ok, because that's the majority. So, it's ok, I guess to pick on groups that are composed of white people. Bullshit, I say!
Does anyone have any idea how many "caucasian" cultures have been oppressed or vilified??

But I digress... Israel just staged a huuuuge invasion.
Now, this, coming after I saw Munich...directed by a Jewish man...I am not as blindly forgiving of the Israelis as I once was. Just as most of the world's view of the United States has been irrevocably tarnished.

Mel was drunk, he's human, he got arrested, he got angry...maybe one of the officers had a "Jewish Last Name". I'm not saying what he said or did was right.
I'm just saying the dude has some rage, he has some issues, and he is apologizing. And I think he means it.
No man is perfect.
And all this pontificating about who will never work with whom again is just ridiculous.
And hypocritical.
It fucking reeks of Pharasitical thought.
So, enough.
Gibson's work has always been pretty noble.
Have I had some less than pure thoughts?
U-huh,
Have I been drunk and let some of them slip?
Yep.
Have I been taken to task for them?
Fuck yes.
But, I was given the opportunity to explain myself, to learn something from the person I offended, and most importantly, I was forgiven.

Can someone tell me...for serious... Jewish folk, please chime in, Catholics have "confession" wherein we confess our sins willingly and believe that God forgives us. And we are taught to forgive our neighbor. Is there a Jewish equivalent of this? I am asking this in the most sincerest of terms, lest anyone read this with the usual biting cynicism that comes with the territory around here.

Loud Breathing

Ok, so there is someone in a cube across from me who I can hear fucking breathing. It sounds like he's asleep, but he's not, he just breathes through his nose really fucking loudly. It sounds like snoring almost. It's driving me absolutely nuts.
Much like a lot of things of late.
Haven't felt very sane today...or yesterday. Ah, the miracle of womanhood.
Some months man, it's like the world is coming to an end and I am at the apex of the destruction.
Yeah, I just said "apex".

Laundry tonight and major cramming for both shows I'm understudying. Turns out I'm in much better shape than I thought as far as lines are concerned. It's just a matter of doing them out loud now.

Disappointment of the weekend:
Andrew Bird does not play well outdoors.

Ah well.

And So it Went...part 4 of 4

And then there was Love. We've got some fond, and not so fond memories of characters who would dominate 2005...

TUESDAY, JANUARY 11, 2005
There's no title.

Yeah, so she never thought she'd see him again. And it really pissed her off. Well, first it hurt. Then she got mad. Then she decided to forget about it. That lasted all of five minutes, and the next three days were spent thinking about the situation, feeling alternately disappointed, sad, and angry...sometimes all at the same time. Which she knows is ok.

Tuesday, therapy. Where she finally accepted that she did the right thing and that anyone who couldn't see that let alone appreciate it, wasn't someone she should be worrying about. Still stung though. She hated not being able to FIX things. To MAKE people see the right path. So, she made a decision. One last olive branch. One last wave of that damn flag...

She wrote him-thinking of the movies and how she was actually setting up a scene from every romantic comedy ever made...which she herself had declared poisonous to the reality of living relationships-but she wrote on. Told him where she would be that evening and the next and that she'd really like to see him...told him he didn't have to reply, and tipped her hat to her almost obsessive need to beat something into the ground. She was a "try all avenues" kind of girl. She pressed "send".

In the afternoon, it started to snow. She watched, nonplussed, thinking it would stop soon. It didn't stop. It got worse and worse until she had to accept that the weather had thwarted her plan for a reconciliation. But, something small in her heart kept speaking up. Telling her she had to go anyway. What if he showed up? What if what if what if...

There were 4 other people in the bar besides her. She resolved to stay until 10:30. It was 9:20. She ordered a beer and sat down and listened to music...her stomach doing some floor work and then the uneven bars. She knew he wasn't going to show... but she even went so far as to alert another bartender just in case to show him where she'd be. Utter silliness. She laughed at herself. But didn't feel bad. She knew that there were about a thousand reasons he wasn't going to show up...the least of which being the 6 inches of snow outside.

She grabbed her beer and moved closer to the stage. Thinking to chat with her friend who was entertaining himself (as there was no one else to entertain). She lit a cigarette. Laughed at something he said. Took a sip of her beer and looked up and towards the bar.

And there he was.

And all she could think was "I can't believe he's here... that's so cool...that's so cool."
There were naysayers who told her "of COURSE he came."
But, when someone doubts as much as she has and has had just as much reason to do so... that moment gets burned in her brain.
All those times she'd watched some stupid movie starring someone whom it hurt to look at and he'd just got done holding up a boombox at the train station after climbing up a fire escape and crashing his girl's ill-fated wedding saying 'I was just nowhere near your neighborhood' and that little voice in her heart cried "Why not me??" and then in the same breath said "Fuck Romance. Love Disappears, Baby" suddenly popped in her brain and she realized that at least one time in her life, she'd actually had a movie moment.
And it was kick ass.

And the not so fond-

Childish little boy
with your expectations and picnic
equipment that drive nearly everything you do.
You go round and through us destroying any
hope we had that you might be ok.
And God Forbid we might let you down-
It's the end it's over and
there's no understanding.
Meanwhile, you can fuck us
and leave us and never call us and lie to us-
any thing to keep you on top, inside and wet.
You wonder why we're crazy.
Wonder Why. Who ever
really sees what they've sown before they
devour what's next.
We've hardened our hearts but you find
your way in
Insidious, cute little boy
with your innocent smile and big bright eyes.
How can we resist the words you know we long and
need to hear?
So, we'll become one of you and plow through each
of you with very little thought of consequence.
But sadly, what still lies inside in that desire that
one of you will be right, that one of you will be good
and we can look at you with trusting eyes and
a warm, unwasted smile and hope for a future.
Uck.




Well podners, it's been a great two years...and we look forward to the years to come.
We end WITH A MONTAGE!

I dream of the day when I can wake up with Folgers in my Cup and realize that I am truly very happy. That the panic is imagined, my life is not in ruins, and being in transition is a good and healthy thing.

I'd stretch my arms above my head and say, "What's next life? How can I kick your ass today?"
(Insert montage of vigorous boxing training in the north regions of Russia...lots of snow... using piles of rocks as weights...imposing looking men in fur hats driving around in cars with chains on the tires. CHAINS people. Because the weather is so badass up there that CHAINS ON TIRES haven't become illegal...like they are here... oh Rocky...you representative of all that was different between the USA and the USSR, you!...I'm sorry... quite possibly the coolest montage in the Rocky franchise and minus the homo-erotic ocean frolicking between Rock and Apollo) but I digress....

Over Drinks....
"Hey, can I buy you a drink?"
"Why, thank you. Yes."
"What's your name?"
"I'm (insert girl's name here)".
"I'm (insert guy's name here)".
"You from around here?"
"Yeah, I grew up in Naperville."
"So, what kinds of music do you listen to?"
"Um, you know, a lot of different stuff."
"Ok, um, what books are you reading now?"
"Um, I don't read much. Don't have a lot of time."
"Wow. That's interesting."
"Yeah, cool, so what do you do?"
"I answer phones and I'm an actress. You?"
"I work for the Board of Trade So, do you do like plays and stuff?"
"Yeah, and films sometimes."
"Anything I would have seen? Cuz my family and I went to see the Lion King and that was pretty cool."
"No... I'm not nor ever was in...The Lion King."
"So. Where do you live?"
"Uptown...Montrose and Clark. You?"
"Lincoln Park. My buddies and I share a place. It's pretty sweet."
"Awesome."

long awkward pause.

"Ok, well, I'm gonna go back to my girlfriends now."
"Right on."
"Thanks for the drink."
"No problem."
"See ya."

Sigh.

THE PMS FILES

PMS How do I love thee, let me count the ways?
I love the bloating...feeling fat is such a
comfort in these cold winter months!
Sadness...oh to listen to Joni Mitchell 24 hours a day Seven days a week...
My hair won't do what I want it to do? It's time to CRY!
And it's ok to eat 50 pounds of Chocolate and/or 7 Big n' Tasty's.
I'll just walk it off!
I adore hating all people!
My skin is a vast oil field that could in fact
provide natural resources for a third world country!
And the PAIN! Oh sweet sweet abdminal pain that makes
me covet a home epidural!
The need to insert "FUCK" as noun, modifier AND verb into
every sentence.

fuuuuuuuck.

/end of line.

On the Topic of PMS Revisited...
Again.. when I can't get my hair to do what I want after 3 tries, and I'm running late and I hurl the brush into the sink while cursing the whoreson who invented mornings, I know...

"It's that time of month
when I just hate the world
Every little thing makes me say
Fuck you kindly,
get the fuck out of my face!
And this song of mine, in three quarter time,
warns you ahead of time to stay the hell out of my fucking way."

And yeah, the last line doesn't scan properly.
You gonna do something about it?
Come over here., and I'll show you how far that'll get you.

God I pity the man who has to deal with me this evening.

Laugh long, laugh hard, and by God laugh with your whole body.

Once upon a Time

There was a boy. And he was very dumb.

The end.

Lessons in Humility
Our generation is extremely arrogant.
Or maybe it's just me.
You grow up with this sense of entitlement.

I'll conquer the world!
I'll be famous!
I'll be PRESIDENT!

And you go to school. And you get your degree. And you get out there and suddenly, you're alone. There's no one holding your hand. But that only serves to strengthen your resolve to succeed. To win. To be perfect. But only if it doesn't compromise the enormous wall of pride and idealism you've bulit up around yourself.

And suddenly you're 29 and you're still answering phones because somewhere along the way, you might have pissed off the wrong people, decided what you were doing didn't really matter in the long run becasue one day YOU were going to be great... but fuck them right? You know who you are and what you stand for and FUCK THEM for being callow.

But then, one day. Reality. You need to eat. You need a home. And there ain't no husband around the corner to do it for you and your parents have had about enough of your overdeveloped idealism. It's time to play the role of a lifetime.

And you look around you and realize that other people are doing it. But they're doing it better and you're still answering phones with a degree that your parents dropped 20 grand a year on. And you are suddenly looking at Reality, Adulthood, and Life square in the face and truly fear looking back on your life and realizing you did nothing of real value.

And that things aren't going to be handed to you and the only thing you're entitled to is that which you work for.

And you find that you have to be ready to start.

Thanks for reading everybody...
You are the coolest.

And We're Back...Part 3 of 4

So what do you get when you put L&A together?
Monkeyshines and Hilarity!

So then there Was This Time A and I Got Arrested for Curfew...

Picture it. Glenview, IL July 3, 1991.
I had just gotten my driver’s license and was fresh off yet another grounding.
I was grounded a lot as a child. I tend to believe this was my mother’s desperate attempt to keep my ass out of trouble rather than an effective punishment for any wrong doing. I was always in trouble. Therefore, I was always grounded.
Gilson Park at night in the summer was THE hangout for kids my age, and I had reaped the benefits nicely by snagging a boy one night. We exchanged digits, and a few days later he called and made plans to get together.
I decided that I would call my some-time partner in crime, A to accompany me on this adventure.
We were going to a party.
The boy would be there. I didn’t want to go alone because, well, one didn’t travel alone to strange parties.
You called your girls. You went en masse. You had back-up.
So, the party was at 8. Here’s where the problems started.
Those of you who’ve known me for a while remember the ridiculous “in by (insert unfuckingreasonable time here)” sanctions levied upon me by my mother. That year, I think I had a 10:30 curfew.
Yeah. 2 1⁄2 hours of playtime. That was it.
And the party was in Mt. Prospect. A half an hour away. So, all together now… how much time did that actually leave me?
ONE AND ONE HALF HOUR.
And seriously, the parents involved in this disaster of an evening wonder why I did what I did. Ok, so we roll in at 8:30. There’s the boy.
There’s booze here. Boy+booze = yep, you guessed it… immediate trip to one of the rooms to make out.
Again…ONE AND ONE HALF HOUR. That’s all I had. So, you can imagine his dismay, when I announced I had to leave.
“Can you come back later?”
Well, hmmm, hadn’t thought of that… perhaps I could sneak out of the house and come back after my mom had gone to bed…
BRILLIANT!
“Yes, after I go and make an appearance back home, we will come back.”
(There was no way in hell I was doing this on my own.) I go and collect A, who I think at this point was chatting it up with some tall guy.
We got home at the appointed hour…Amanda was sleeping over, and waited for my mom to get home, so she could go to bed and we could go back out. Well, my mother wasn’t cooperating. She wasn’t coming home at a reasonable hour. As a matter of fact, I don’t think she got home until around midnight and wasn’t going to bed any time soon either.
We were screwed.
In order to get to the party, we had to drive. My mother was up and in the front part of the house that overlooked the driveway. Even if we pushed the car into the street before starting it, she’d totally see us.
Then came the idea. The idea that would alter the course of that summer forever.
I can’t even remember who thought of it… so I’ll blame A.
“Why don’t we take my parent’s car?”
“What?”
“Yeah.”
So, we slipped unnoticed out of the house and BOOKED our asses down the street to A’s house. She sneaked inside to get the keys.
I should pause here to point out a couple of things.
1. I was only 16. Curfew in Glenview legally began at something like 11:00. As a minor, my driver’s license was rendered invalid after that time. Which also meant I was no longer insured.
2. A was only 15 at the time with a learners permit.
3. It was now 12:30.
4. This was a bad idea.
We pushed A’s parents’ Dodge Aries station wagon out of the driveway and half way down the block before we got in and started it. So far, so good. We were off. We drove back to the house where the party was. We knocked on the door. A guy I recognized as one of the boy’s friends answered the door.
“HEY!!”
“Hey…sorry it took us so long to get back…”
“No problem… but uh, (the boy) went home.” “…..”
“I could call him if you want..”
“Yes, do that one thing.”
He calls. No one answers. It’s like 1 in the morning. Dude was drunk when I left. And he was like 17. Undoubtably he was passed out. I was pissed. And disappointed. I had adventure adrenaline coursing through me and nothing to do with the resulting energy. Just then, another really bad idea. This time, from the tall guy.
“HEY! Why don’t we go over there… he’s a pussy, and you guys came all the way back…we’ll go get his ass out of bed.”
Let me pause again.
It’s now 1:30. These guys are wasted. I am driving around in a STOLEN AND UNINSURED car. There was no guarantee the boy would be awake much less let us in to his house.
Did we go?
To quote Robert “Kid Notorious” Evans: You bet your ass we did.
Off we drove down Euclid. Woo hoo! We’re on our way! Smoking cigarettes…towards more adventure!!!
Hey is that a cop behind us?
Naw, dude, that’s a ski rack!
HEY! I’m gonna throw this GLASS BOTTLE out the window….
Flashing red and blue. OHMYFUCKINGCHRISTWEAREINSOMUCHTROUBLE OHFUCKOHFUCKOHFUUUUUUUUUUCK.
“Hello, may I see your license and insurance please?”
A, God bless her heart, tries to cover with
‘oh, this is my parent’s car, and I don’t know where they keep the card..”
I hand over my now worthless license. The cop chuckles.
“Young lady, it’s after curfew, you’re underage, and you’re under arrest.”
I tried to make up some story about my dad or something (he was living in LA at the time)
I don’t know I was delirious with panic. A was surprisingly calm. She held my hand in the back of one of the 5 squad cars that showed up, and reminded me that I was a student at a prominent Catholic school in Wilmette and that THIS INDIGNITY would not be suffered lightly….or some such bullshit designed to make me not think about the hanging I was facing at home.
It was 3:30 am. They called our parents.
“Hello, Mr. A? This is the Mount Prospect Police Department. Do you know where your daughter is?”
Assholes! They actually SAY that?
“No, she isn’t sir, she’s here at the station. In Mt. Prospect. Mr. A, do you know where your Dodge Aries is?”
Dude!
“No, sir, it isn’t. It is also here at the station. In Mt. Prospect. Could you kindly come and collect them?”
I don’t remember what they said to my mother. I remember her picking me up though. With her boyfriend at the time. At 4 AM. I remember being in the backseat when a Beatles’ song came on and my mom yelling at me for singing along. I remember hearing “You’re grounded for 2 months.”
The rest of the summer. I remember it was a bad bad night. A, on the other hand got a slap on the wrist. She was free in 2 days. Got yelled at and that was it. And it was HER PARENT'S CAR!! I suffered 2 weeks (early release for good behavior) of no going out and no phone. It was hell. I think some of my most angsty teen poetry came out of that grounding. Thank God for my brother and his friends. And Thank God for Marijuana. Oh, and no, I never talked to that guy again. Story of my freakin’ life….




But there's more! Much more!

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...




When we come back...the thrilling conclusion of our look back on 2004...also parts of 2005 that don't make our intrepid writer cry at work...stay tuned!

The Birthday Celebration Marches On! Part 2 of 4

And we're back! Who can forget this entry...detailing the events of a frigid Winter's eve...an event that would change lives forever.
Sort of.
Well, actually, not at all.

COPS! In MORTON GROVE...

Approximately 8:30 PM Glenview, IL It was my Freshman year of College and I was home for Christmas Break. It was Friday night and we were scrambling to find a place to drink. Our old Standby "GuywiththeTrailer" didn't live in the trailer anymore since his sister crashed her car into it and while trying to back away from it, managed to crash into the one behind her and knock it over. Yes, she in essence knocked over someone's house with her car.
And yes, there was a time when I hung out and partied In a Trailer.
Long story short, our options for unsupervised hanging out were severely limited. But there was an option.
The Vegas Motel.
Out in Niles.
Word had it that the owner didn't care who rented rooms and you could be as loud as you wanted. My other friends had already partied there once and thought it was awesome. So. We drive out to the Vegas Motel in Niles, IL. Cars stocked with requisite cases and "40's". Well, we ring the bell and no one answers. Apparently, the Vegas Motel was not renting rooms that night. We were like the Nativity. If by Nativity you mean 8 underage kids trying desperately to find a place to get drunk...just then a voice...
"What about the Admiral Oasis?"
"What?"
"The Admiral Oasis...over there in Morton Grove. It's huge. No one will bother us."
We'd found our Manger.
OK, so back in the cars and onward to our destination. We were giddy with the anticipation of outright rebellion. Tallguy had a fake ID. He booked the room. We were in business.
"Ok, let's go find the room!"
"YAY!"
The Admiral Oasis is a wrap-around courtyard terrace walkway type situation and we had no idea how the number system worked and so we made several trips back and forth on the open walkway.
"Hey, you guys, I think those cops are looking at us."
"Nu-uh. Just keep moving...Don't' look at them, they won't look at you."
Find the room.
Coats off, TV on. AH PORNOGRAPHY!
And Red Carpet...on the walls...and a mirror above the bed...
We quickly set about to the business of opening beers...setting up a table on which the weed would be de-seeded and rolled into big fattys...the party had started. Then one of the girls piped up...
"You guys, I need to find a payphone. I gotta call my boyfriend. In Ohio."
To choruses of "Oh COME ON!" and "We really shouldn't call attention to ourselves here..." she left.
The party continued. I was sitting on the floor, two of my girlfriends were on the bed with two of the other guys just horsing around laughing about the weird mirror on the ceiling, providing play by play commentary on the porn we were watching.
Suddenly a knock at the door.
"Who is it?"
"Guys it's me. Open the door."
"NOPE! You left now you can't come in!"
"No, seriously, you guys, let me in."
We opened the door and there was our friend with two very large police officers who quickly pushed past her and wielded their flashlights at us yelling
"EVERYONE FREEZE!"
But not before the guy who had been cleaning the weed stood up from the table and made a quick retreat to the other side of the room. Now I was basically shitting myself. I'm 18. I'm drinking. and there's about a quarter of an ounce of pot 2 feet away from me. The cops start in on us.
"WHO'S DRUGS ARE THESE???"
No one speaks. Now, I should stop here and mention that on the TV was an extreme closeup of a woman receiving and extreme rimjob.
"Um, officer, could you um, turn the TV...off.."
"SHUT UP!"
"no, really, please, could you turn that off?"
The cop turns around ad looks at the TV, which by the way is suspended from the ceiling so he is now face level with this woman's ass and the tongue attacking it.
"HOLY SHIT... Just WHAT in the HELL is going on in here? WHO'S DRUGS ARE THESE?" No one speaks... except for the ASSHOLE who's drugs they were.
"C'mon you guys, fess up...who's are they?"
I wanted to scream THEY'RE YOURS YOU DICK!" but I was paralyzed with fear. I was still locked in the image of my mother finding out about this. Being picked up from yet ANOTHER police station late at night... I started to cry.
"Listen kids, either you tell us who's drugs these are, or we bring the dogs in. Cuz where there's this there's gotta be more."
Then he radios in to the station.
"Yeah, we're gonna need a wagon down at the Admiral.."
That's when I snapped. I began sobbing and screaming at the same time.
"WE DON'T HAVE ANY MORE DRUGS! LOOK!"
I began emptying out my coat pockets...my gloves and cigarettes and cellophane and foil from said cigarettes flying and landing in a mess in front of me...
Just then, the sergeant comes in...
"OK guys, ID's."
We were all more than happy to comply.
(I had returned to my upright fetal position rocking back and forth the 'mymotherisgoingtokillmeimsodead' mantra churning in my brain)
And as he looked over the ID's, amusement lit up his face. He flipped through them he discovered that he was dealing with a bunch of kids from Glenview, Wilmette, and Evanston... we weren't criminals. We were a bunch of Northshore college kids doing what college kids do. So, he tells his boys:
"Cite 'em for Underage Drinking and let 'em go."
And then he turned to us.
"Kids don't you have basements at home you can do this in??"
"Uh, no sir, all our parents are home."
"Well, don't come Here. We just had a shooting here 2 days ago. This is NOT a place where you should be hanging out. BAD things happen here."
Sensing we were out of immediate danger, and in an effort to chat it up with our new friends GirlwithBoyfriendinOhio chirps:
"Are you guys wearing bullet proof vests??"
Then it came time to flush the pot. Still seething from ASSHOLE's denial of the whole thing and relieved I was getting off so easy and my mother would NEVER find out about this...I jumped and asked
"Can I do it???" And I did.
And it was good.
So, that was our big brush with the law. We got off easy.
Tallguy...not so much. As a result of having a fake ID he had a whole other set of problems to deal with...AND he actually took the fall for the weed. Totally took one for the team. One of the coolest things anyone has ever done. To this day, the girls never let me live down my freak out and pocket emptying episode. But they don't understand.
My mother really would have fucking killed me.





And How!

And what about this sad little tale of a (surprise) broken hearted girl...

And The Mood Swings Back and Forth... There once was a girl. She was pretty ok. She smiled a lot and laughed a lot and had lots of friends. But then one day, the girl met a boy. And she lost her heart to him. And then he broke it into a million pieces. For a long time, the girl could do nothing but cry. Cry and mourn and hide the pieces in a drawer. And then anger came to visit. And took up a lot of room in that hole where her heart once was. So, all that sadness made friends with the anger which then turned into fear. She became a very difficult person to be around. After a time, she decided it was time to try and fix it. She got out her tool box, and got to work. She used lots of things. Craft glue, tape, ribbons, and even some glitter. She wanted it to be pretty again. It made her smile everytime she thought of a new way to make it shine again. And she started to feel happy again. She thought maybe now she could put her heart back. So she did. It seemed to be holding up pretty good in there. She smiled more, and laughed a lot and became a better person to be around. But, soon, it became clear that she hadn't completely moved the Fear out. And her freshly mended heart was having trouble dealing with the sadness that was still there. And that made her angry which in turn made her sad which in turn made her fearful all over again. She felt like a mess of a girl. And crawled back under the covers. Maybe she could add some more glitter tomorrow.



Maybe she can. When we return, Stolen cars and missed curfews! Don't stray too far...the Xanax Files 2nd Birthday Extravaganza will be back!

The Xanax Files 2004...cuz if I Go Too Far into 2005 I Start Crying. Part 1 of 4

Hi, I'm Troy Maclure. You may remember me from such Driver's Ed films as "Today We Kill, Tomorrow We Die" and "Alice's Adventures through the Windshield Glass"...Happy 2nd Birthday Xanax Files! Today we go back to 2004 to revisit some of the more memorable moments around here...Join me, won't you?

Ah...August 4, 2004, the event that started it all...

“Take care” she said, not really looking at him as she followed him to the door. She managed to glance at him once as he passed through it and saw a look on his face that confused her. Did he think she was going to beg him? It almost looked like disbelief.
The lock clicked into place and she turned around to go back to her bedroom. The picture had to go. She tore it up quickly, without thinking. Knowing that in times past, moments like these led to squirreling away more bits of nostalgic detritus she had collected.
Not this time.
Into the living room. The pin from the bike rally. Garbage. Tickets stubs from Vegas. Garbage. The clothes! Back to the bedroom…but wait. She LIKES these shirts. To the top shelf of the closet she just moved in to…at the back. Where she won’t see them until she’s better. She just can’t bring herself to throw away good clothes. Back to the living room. Wallet… the sweet nothing she carried with her that meant so much when he wrote it…don’t read it…just tear it up and throw it away. This bandaid WILL come off quickly goddamnit. Camera. Film. Waste it, throw it away. Everything. A 5 month love affair destroyed in one morning. All traces of him removed in under 15 minutes. She called her roommate.

Then she cried.
And then she made a promise to herself. Never again. Never again. Never again. She will never let herself love freely again. Never. They all leave. All of them. No matter what they say. No matter what they do.
“I’m not that guy.”
“I love you.”
“I want to take care of you.”
Bullshit. All the same. And she refused to let this one in. She wasn’t going to fall apart again. She had made a fool of herself the last time. This time would be different. She’d be ok. But she was afraid to wake up tomorrow morning.

Wake up. Fuck. It happened. And now it’s time to throw up. Walk slowly around the apartment. Not wanting to be far away from her roommate. Where is this fear coming from? Go to work. Go to rehearsal. Dry heave throughout the day. Being left is a full-body experience. She feels like an addict. Home. Cry. Sleep. Wake up. Start it all over again.

Then the dark thoughts come. The ones that have been quiet for so long. Thoughts like, What if she just didn’t wake up in the morning? It would be great to just disappear completely. How hard would it be? She knows something is terribly wrong. So, she goes through all the right channels. All the right doctors and starts to try and get herself well.

All the while in her head.. never again. Never again. Never again.

She prides herself in being ok. Being strong. She isn’t well, isn’t ok isn’t strong.




Whoa! Kinda depressing... but things weren't always sad around good old XF...

Anyhoo...
Wedding Season. First of all, it's ALWAYS Wedding Season. Anytime someone says "It's Wedding Season!" I want to slap them across the mouth. People get married everyday. That's why you have to reserve your venue 10 years in advance. The only reason why it seems like wedding season is because it's not 50,000 degrees below zero outside, and actually catch glipmses of wedding parties. But that's not what I want to write about today. It's only a weak segue into what I call my Endless Love Rant.


My love, There's only you in my life.
The only thing that's bright.
My first love, You're every breath that I take.
You're every step I make. And I, I want to share, All my love with you.
No one else will do.
And your eyes, Your eyes, your eyes,
They tell me how much you care.
Oooohh yes, you will always be,
My endless love.Two hearts,
Two hearts that beat as one.
Our lives have just begun.
Forever,Ohhhhhh...I'll hold you close in my arms.
I can't resist your charms.
And love,Oh, love, I'll be a fool, For you.
I'm sure, You know I don't mind.
Oh, you know I don't mind.
'Cause you,You mean the world to me.
Oooohh... I know, I've found in you, My endless love.
DOO DOO DOO DOOOooh, and love.
Oh, love, I'll be that fool, For you.
I'm sure, You know I don't mind.
Oh you know, I don't mind.
And, YES, You'll be the only one.
'Cause no one can deny,This love I have inside.
And I'll give it all to you, My love,
My love, my love, My endless love.

Sweet song right? Played at countless weddings across America. But what I need you to know is that this song is the title track to a film of the same name starring Brooke Sheilds and directed by (unbeknownst to me until today and shocking as I was doing my research for this piece) Franco Zeffirelli. For those of you not familiar with this little gem of a film, here's the plot summary as quoted from IMDB (simply because it's put just about as well as I would.)



“Two young kids fall in love with each other. But the passion is too consuming for the parents of Jade. The parents try to stop them from seeing each other. But when this doesn't work David burns down the house and is sent away. This doesn't stop him from seeing her. When he gets out he goes to look for her. But in the end the passion for his first love is too strong and she has to leave or this love will kill both of them.”

Now, I'd like to call your attention to one line in particular. "But when this doesn't work David burns down the house and is sent away." One more time. "David burns down the house". Yes. He BURNS. DOWN. THE. HOUSE. And if that isn't twisted enough for you, what the blurb doesn't tell you is that after David tracks down the since moved object of his desire, he inadvertently causes her dad to be railed by a car and killed. "Dooo doo doo I want to share all my love with you..."

That's Endless Love.

Protip: If you ever meet a couple who's First Dance was Endless Love, set down your drink and back away slowly.





He he...Well, let's go ahead and end this segment with some excerpts...

Protip: Just because a really good chick movie comes on USA, one does not need to drink a quarter of a jug of wine.

What I learned from drinks with folks from work:

If sharks were on land they wouldn't be as scary...even if they were camouflaged or had a cloaking device or similar. Only that as they uncloaked, the "Klingon Bird of Prey Uncloaking Music" must play.


Wild at Heart is NOT the Christian Slater monkey heart movie.

Happy 2nd Birthday Xanax Files!

Yes, here we are. Two years of angst, breakups, sad, angry and sometimes even a little happy.

Thank you for reading and helping to keep my perpetually grimacing ass sane.

Wow... perhaps we here at the Xanax Files, and by we I mean, me...
should do one of those retrospectvies.

Huzzah!

Check back periodically throughout this auspicious day as I post what I think is the best of the best...the emo of the emo and yes, of course, the surliest of the surly.

Craptastic

There is little worse than being woken up by my cat 3 times in one night.
Unless it's being woken up the third time and then remembering the ridiculously disturbing dream I was in the middle of having. Fuck. And then getting pissed at the cat not only for the waking up, but being like
"I am having a really bad dream night here, cat, can you please. PLEASE dial it back??"

Apparently this "in between phase" I'm in comes chuck full of residual crap that's gonna get flushed out while I sleep. So. I bring you the recurring symbols menu I've been chosing from at Casa de Loco. In no particular order

Buses
My Stepmom
My Dad
basements
Ex-boyfriends
water
weddings
engagement rings
wedding dresses
pregnancy
miscarriages (one of the delightful events of last nights dreamweaving)
shows
driving
woods
fighting

And so on.

I am not rested and I think the PMS is upon me.
So.
Suck.

Goddamned Mojitos

For serious.
What the hell is this latest trend with fucking mojitos?
They taste like ass.
Minty ass.

vomit.

Dear Blog Readers

Wednesday.
This is the first full week I've had in like a month.
It's interminable!

Today's meditation in The Language of Letting Go is that sometimes we're "in between". My good friend Bishop wrote about this earlier in the week...I need to link her.
Anyhoo.
In between. In between jobs, relationships, shows, projects, rocks and hard places... you know, that feeling after you've decided to leave something behind. Kinda empty. Floating. In it's most extreme, without purpose as the enjoyment or yes, even the anxiety we carried around was a comfort, a friend, a confidant...if you threw a party and invited everyone you knew, it would see the biggest gift would be from you and the card attached would say "Thanks, Pain, Thank You for being a friend." Or, whatever it is you are leaving behind.

Lookit, right about now, funk soul brother, I'd like this goddamned heat to go away so that I can begin my bike rides to work without risk of stroke or heart attack or profuse sweating.

The Heat is what causes the Cliché.
The cookie is what causes the weight gain.
damn you cookie. damn you to hell.

A Lesson in Hope

I've mentioned this before, but I was reminded of it again:

From The Village:
...Let her go. If it ends, it ends. We can move towards hope, that's what's beautiful about this place. We cannot run from heartache. My brother was slain in the towns, the rest of my family died here. Heartache is a part of life, we know that now. Ivy is running toward hope, let her run. If this place is worthy, she'll be successful in her quest...The world moves for love. It kneels before it in awe.