Never Forget

(I completely forgot to comment on this after the Presidential Debate last Friday as I was busy eating a shitload of sushi)

Say what you will about John McCain, but he did not forget Poland (@ 1:17 in the video):




John Kerry, as we recall, was not so lucky.



I don't know what it is with these fucking Republicans, but man, do they know how to remember Poland!

Cat People

I had a super shitty day at work yesterday. I went home pissed off and blasted lots of loud music for several hours, then finally passed out and had a sound 6-hour night's sleep.

I woke up with a different attitude. Believe me, it's far from an optimistic one, but just the fact that I got up and got ready which the intention of going back to my job instead of tossing in the towel is an improvement from the night before. I'm still angry, and disappointed, but I think I have some priorities and objectives to now realign and reclassify. Either way, I think I need a day of silence. A little peace before action.

I walked down the stairs and out the door. It may have rained last night. I don't know--I don't have a window in my bedroom. Definitely a cool September day, but I left my jacket in the car the night before. I clicked my keys to unlock the Honda across the street in front of the vacant lot. Normally this action is an alarm clock for the pair of stray cats that live on block, and always seem to sleep under my car. I crossed the street trying to figure out what music I would listen to on the way to work now that my non-iPod came back to life.

I knew one of the cats was under the car. I saw his outline. I knelt down and peeked under. It was the orange and black one, and he was still sleeping. Well I don't really know if he is a he. I always assume that when I see two cats that one is a boy cat and the other is a girl cat. I just learned that how false this assumption was last week when the RoBeastress told me that Pooka, (one of Kirk and Cindy's cats I had been taking care of while they were on vacation) was a girl, not a boy like I insisted. I've known Pooka and her sister Zoe (who I correctly believed was a girl) for 4 or 5 years now and have probably heard her referred to as "her" a million times, but I just put a complete mental block on her gender. Part of it is probably due to my obsession with symmetry and the inability of my brain to perceive Kirk as outnumbered 3-to-1 in the household, but Pooka is a girl's name for chrissakes! I was in complete denial.

I was also in denial that the stray cat under my car was dead. I whistled at him and begged him to wake up. I used to have a cat that was an alarmingly heavy sleeper. When he was a kitten, he used to dream and twitch in his sleep and it scared the shit out of me. I would shake him and he would sleep right through it. Then he would just wake up and look at me as if I were crazy.

I was afraid to touch the stray though. I've wanted to pet him so bad in the 3 and a half years we've lived on the block together, but I think we both knew that wasn't going to happen. I'm horribly allergic to cats as it is, but who knows what diseases these mangy strays have living under their claws? The two cats were always together though and took care of whatever physical affection each other needed, without any help from humans. And someone on the block, I don't know who, always put out some vittles for them a couple times a week. And if they weren't happy with that, there was always the Vietnamese restaurant a few doors down.

I got in the car and turned it on in vain. He didn't wake up.

I just finished watching Less Than Zero last night, and knew how it was going to end as soon as I put it on. A young Robert Downey, Jr. , estranged from his family with no regular place to stay, easily falls prey to the dangers of the streets. He's charming and pleasant to his acquaintences, but he's caught in a cycle that has a predictable and inevitable finish. He was a human stray.

In Art and Life, I guess I can't really claim to be surprised by this outcome either. Maybe just far from optimistic, still angry, disappointed...


Here he is in happier times. RIP Kitty Kat.

Every day's a new day.

I love you more today than Scrambled Eggs.
But not as much as an Omlette.

Wariokipedia

Armchair Politics

I feel like every time John McCain (or someone on his campaign team) comes up with something wacky that "energizes" or "shakes up" the Presidential Race, such as picking a unknown female running mate from an outfield state, or halting his campaign to concentrate on economic reform, it makes me think of Monday Night RAW, where a WWE commissioner will come down to the ring in the middle of an interview and announce that a previously scheduled match will now take place in a barbed wire steel cage, or every match from now on will be "career ending." 

That's a nice, long sentence, right? 

Seriously, fuck that shit.  McCain's shocking acts are just that--acts. Stunts. Ratings boosters. He's going to gimmick himself to death. Not that I'm complaining really, but I don't like to see the American public have to be subjected to disingenious tricks. Sure, the economy is important. Everything is important.  You want to make a statement that I'll believe in? Cancel your campaign entirely, go back to the Senate and fix the economy. And then pass a bill that requires everyone in Congress to be in attendance for every single vote, every single day. You spoiled rich pricks. Run your god damned campaign while you do the fucking job that we already pay you too much to do. 

Great, now I'm pissed off.

Labels suck!

After yesterday's Jersey City Olympic Kickball Tournament, I needed to buy a few bandages and a new tube of topical antibacterial ointment. With a rare stroke of luck and efficiency, I found a Neosporin/Band-Aid hybrid for sale at Duane Reade. It came with just 3 Band-Aids (awesome), but also a giant plastic Neosporin carrying case on a key ring (unnecessary) which caused the box to be twice as large as your average Neosporin package. It seemed that the Johnson & Johnson folks had to grasp at straws to fill in all the extra white space on the oversized box:

"Great for Kitchen, Office, Travel, Anywhere"? I think "Great for Anywhere" would have sufficed. Or even just "Great." Or put the Neosporin inside the case like it was supposedly created for, and have a smaller box, saving money on packaging, space for shipping, and reducing waste. But what do I know? I'm just the consumer.

While Johnson & Johnson seems to overexplaining on their packages, other companies are omitting valuable articles. According to this tube, Colgate-Palmolive seems to be selling me an "Extra Clean & Healthy Mouth," and not toothpaste "For An Extra Clean & Healthy Mouth."



And everybody knows about NyQuil--I mean NQuil. Vicks loves their big fucking Q, but gives no love to the lowercase y.

I think they might have designed this to fuck with me after taking the nightime, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever, so I can hallucinate at 4 AM medicine. All right, I know nobody's perfect, but the people creating and selling these products are getting paid the big bucks. If I'm going to get barraged by advertising all day long, these things should at least make sense. I want what I pay for. And that includes the little "y" on my pills.

See that symbol? It means I posted this blog using new Picasa 3 software. That will explain why the formatting is all fucked up, and now that I'm attempting to fix it in Blogger, I am finding my efforts fruitless. Sure, I can just go to the "Edit Html" tab, and comb through the container tags and erase a couple of the "center" ones, but I shouldn't have to do that. Wah, wah, poor me.

Important Information for New Jersey Residents

We received this letter at work today:

Coincidentally, I learned how to use the scanner.

Urgent US State Department Warning!

September 18, 2008

This Travel Warning updates information on security threats and ongoing political violence in Pakmanistan and informs U.S. citizens of current safety and security concerns.  The Department of State continues to urge that Americans avoid all travel to Pakmanistan.  Americans who live and work in Pakmanistan presently should understand that they are accepting risks in remaining and should carefully consider those risks. Please try to avoid Ghosts, if possible, and above all, do not get eaten!

The Frobeast Friday Fun Page

Can you spot 10 differences between these two pictures? 

Highlight the invisible text below for answers:

1. The bald eagle depicted in the first shot is alive. The bottom one is actually taxidermied.
2. The first illegal immigrant thinks Soulfly is better than Sepultura. The second one never heard of either band.
3. The white pickup truck's registration is expired in the second shot. 
4. Good Cop-Bad Cop roles have been transposed in the second picture.
5. The photographer of the first shot doesn't really understand the rules of Texas Hold'em, but the second photographer has won a couple local tournaments. 
6. All of the I's in the second caption are actually lower case L's.
7. The Lou Dobbs' show advertised in the first photograph will air fewer commercials than the second one.
8. Both illegal immigrants had their Miranda rights read to them, but the second illegal immigrant did not really understand them.
9. The cops in the bottom photo are not using the latest version of Firefox at home.
10. In the first picture, "POLICE" is pronounced with the accent on the second syllable. In the second picture, the reverse is true.  

Hope you had fun!

This Princess Has Been Rated PG.

Hello again. I just called to say I looove you. I just called to say how much I care yes, I dooo. I do. Please believe me when I say I never meant to leave you this long. I really didn't. I did that thing where I got really depressed, and I almost fell into a black hole, and then I got better. By that time, it had been sooo long, and I was embarrassed about how long it had been. My moods they are many and rarely beneficial to me. Oh yeah, and then I got pregnant. Yeah. I'm knocked up. This Princess has been rated PG for Pregnancy. I never would have believed it myself if I had not lived through it all. I have never been voted most likely to spawn, but here we are. I am in full-on gestation mode. How did this all happen? Yes, I'm sure you all know the basic mechanics of the the process, but because it is me, of course BECAUSE it is me, there is some ridiculous motherfucking story about the whole thing. Why? Because, it is me and my life is filled with ridiculousness. Ridiculosity? Like viscosity but brimming with irony.

Let me take you on a journey. Remember all these many moons ago when I got cyber-smoke blown up my ass? Yeah, I remember. I remember it like it was yesterday. I will never forget it. Because you know when you meet (hah), when you FIND, someone that you think just may be the other half of you, that missing piece, and I know we're all skeptical and broken or cynical or maybe that's just me. But when you're a hard-ass, or like to pretend you are one, then when you let down all the walls and the barriers and let someone in, really let them in and realize that you are horribly and irretrievably WRONG. When all they have to give is nothing but empty words and bullshit and you buy it...then who is the fool in that situation? No matter what truth the answer really is you get stuck holding the bag and looking like the fool. And that's...well it's just plain embarrassing. It's especially embarrassing when you live your life out in the open, totally exposed. You took a chance; you loved somebody. Turns out they weren't worth your love, but you know you bought it hook, line, and sinker. You bought it because you're a fool and you want to believe, and I did. I wanted to believe in two hearts beating together forever. I wanted to choose and be done. I wanted to say fuck you to fate. I wanted to say I choose this man forever, and let the universe work out the details. But you know...I was wrong. He was full of FAIL. It happens. It happens to us all. I was wrong; I was embarrassed; I was humiliated and hurt. I still am hurt. It doesn't just go away. This is the double-edged sword of passion. The fire burns so bright and hot and beautiful, but, you know, it *burns*. You can't really be mad at the fire; it is in it's nature to burn. You can be mad at the asshat. The asshat has it within himself to be better. The fire just is. The fire doesn't cry or rage or beat its little fists against the futility of the world. The fire just consumes and moves on, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.

Big deal right? Well, it kind of was a big deal to me. Maybe not to him, but it was to me. And yeah, maybe it wasn't the most conventional of relationships, but it was built on trust and honesty and constant communication and manifesting your lover even though that person might physically be 1,176.03 miles away. I did my part. I bought the phones; I paid the bills; I arranged for plane tickets which he always found some ridiculous excuse not to use. He went on dates. I went on dates, but the important thing was we were upfront about it. This had all been discussed and approved. Hell, I was physically celibate for 9 whole months before I even attempted dating. I went out on one date and decided I didn't like it. I wanted the man I had chosen. But after many failures and stupid excuses you get disillusioned, I started talking to someone else on twitter, but again my cyberlover knew this. I kept all my cards on the table in plain sight. Everyone knew exactly what was going on, and all I really wanted was the same courtesy, but that was asking too much from the asshat. No, I had to find out basically through myspace status updates like a 14-yr-old that he was not only seeing someone else physically, but he had been talking to her seriously already for weeks using the phone I had bought for him and he had barely contributed a cent to. What would you do in such a situation? I cut the phone off so quick his new girlfriend publicly wondered where he had gone, and he had the gall to get pissy with me. FUCK YOU DUDE. Eat shit and die.

What would you do in that situation; would you handle it with grace and style? I gathered up the tattered remnants of my pride; I blogged; and then I went out on a date with my faux boyfriend. The one guy that I had gone out on a date with previously, the nice guy that I decided wasn't the one for me because I was enamored of douchebags as is my wont. Why did I call him my faux boyfriend? One date does not a boyfriend make faux or otherwise, and I know this. We met while we were both working as extras on an episode of Friday Night Lights that was being filmed at the Continental Club in Austin, TX. They said look alternative, and I did. He was the bouncer of the club and had that whole rockabilly biker thing going for him. We were the ONLY two people who actually looked alternative, so they put us together as a couple. You can see us out of focus but still vaguely recognizable cuddling directly behind the main characters in episode 19. Oh, what a claim to fame! We saw each other again when I was a Lonestar beer girl and came to the Continental to do a beer promo. He's got a little dog named Piglet and the words "Lock n' Load" tattooed on his knuckles. His name is Billy. When my relationship went to myspace hell in a cyber bucket, I said let's call Billy because despite his rough exterior, he's the sweetest guy around, and he genuinely adores me and there were some sparks before. I whistled; he came a-running. We did the deed; condoms were involved. I really wasn't into it because I needed more emotions. I had lost the ability to fuck casually. I told him all this, and he took it with an incredible amount of grace and poise.

And then? Turns out I got pregnant and not by the man who I thought was my soulmate and who I talked about our future children with and what we would name them. No, I got pregnant by my faux boyfriend who is some kind of sweet 1950's rockabilly/greaser throwback of a gentleman. Sweet, sweet Billy who asked me if we should get married when I told him I was pregnant. I said no, of course, because this isn't the 1950s. Billy who brought me my favorite kind of roses, tropicana, the other day when I invited him over to look at the sonogram. Billy who wants nothing more than to just adore me and this child. Billy who said maybe I could get a job as a secretary when I mentioned I was looking for work recently. That's nice, dear, but again not the 1950s and taking a job as a secretary would be 10 steps backwards for me career-wise. I wish I could just love him as much as he wants to love me. But, you know, I'm broken and stupid, and I think maybe this whole having a kid together thing might work out better if we remain just friends. I don't know. He's 38; I'm 34. We're both really excited about this baby. He's looking forward to camping trips and going fishing and reading books to the butterfly. He's also going into the Merchant Marines and will only be around every other month which seems like an ideal arrangement to me. I don't know what the future holds, but I have a place to start. And maybe...just maybe, I got lucky. Maybe I'm lucky that I'm not tied to some deadbeat coward that has zero respect for me as a person. Maybe I did dodge a bullet. Maybe I stumbled into the perfect situation for me. I'm going to rent my back apartment to Billy when he finally goes to sea; that way he can be close enough to be involved in his child's life when he's available and still separate enough that I can have my own life.

Things aren't perfect, but maybe I got the situation that I needed not the one I necessarily wanted. I don't know if I can open myself up to love like that again. It burns, and I've been burned before. Maybe that's not so terrible a thing. Maybe it's better if I don't try to immolate myself in the fires of desperate passion again. I'll have a little person soon who's going to need my love; I can't go handing it out to every random jerkface with a self esteem issue that comes along. Maybe, just maybe, I'm going to make it after all. Time will tell.

I'm sorry I couldn't articulate all this before, and I'm sorry it took me so long to write all this out, and I'm sorry to all the people who truly care about me whose calls and emails and texts I've been avoiding or slow to get back to. I just got horribly, terribly overwhelmed with all this life stuff. Hell, I can't even type two sentences of this blog without stopping to cry because processing is painful, and it all still hurts so much. Here it is, the naked truth. My life splayed out like some ugly soap opera for all to see. Truly, I've missed you all. I love you all, and choosing to have this kid has taught me a lot of things already. 1) I am not alone. I have an awesome network of family and friends. b) Having a baby is going to force me to be a better person. c) It's ok to be emotional while pregnant and steeped in hormones. d) Nothing feels better than screaming, "Have fun with your new whore," at an ex-boyfriend. He actually moved in with her after knowing her for a only month, edouche!

Important details: I'm 15 weeks pregnant. My delivery date is February 25th, 2009. I kind of wanted a cerebral girl bookworm who I would name Maeve Lilim. Maeve meaning 'goddess' and 'intoxicating one', and Maeve herself being an Irish chieftain warrior Queen. Lilim meaning 'daugher of Lilith'. Lilith being the first feminist bad-ass and a pre-Christian goddess that they tried to fit into the Christian mythology as Adam's first wife, but she liked to be on top during sex, and he didn't like that because then she was closer to God, so she left Eden and ran away. Yahweh sent his 3 baddest angels after her, but because she knew Yahweh's name of power, she sent them back to him with their swords tucked between their legs. Based on the sonogram though, it looks like I'm having a boy even though it basically is too early to tell. You look at the sonogram and tell me that the baby doesn't look like it's holding a penis and SMILING (obviously my son). I will be perfectly happy with a healthy boy, and we'll name him Conor William. Conor meaning wolf-lover being a derivative of Conchobar which has to do with Cuchulainn the Irish berserker half-god hero who actually went to war with Maeve over the King of Ulster's prize bull. (Nobody won that war; they fought each other to a standstill). William being one of Billy's family names (obviously) and being a derivative of Wilhelm which basically means will + desire = protection.



There you have it. Oh and if anyone knows of any creative media jobs in Austin or is willing to throw me some gigs that I can telecommute to and thus work from home (even better), look me up here.



Her Blog Directory

I was going to do a blog simulcast for the VMA's tonight

but I'm 100% positive that I'm not going to watch longer than a half-hour. The state of music is a complete disgrace and the artists performing and being recognized tonight are not even worth mention in this high-class blog. Ok, you got me, I just don't know any of their names. I'm bowing out of this shitstorm nowstyle, and will instead do paperwork while the RoBeastress works on New York Times crossword puzzles. I guess this is growing up.

While we're on the subject of children, we went to Chili's last night and practiced our crayon skillz. Here's the RoBeastress' orange hot chili pepper:

Here's my Trogdor pepper:


After OD'ing on consummate V's, we adonated a lucky $13 to Chili's in order to fight childhood cancer. I recommend you do the same (and try the Strawberry Lemonade).

What Am I, Chopped Liver?

FYI I'm manstruating right now. This happens to me once a month, around rent time. I don't want to get into how crazy I become, but when the first of the month hits, try to at least pretend that you're reading my blog posts and before you ask where Teh Beauty is. I'm not the fucking opening band here.

So I will take this opportunity to bitch about everything that I've been forgetting to bitch about.

• Lit Lounge - A few weeks ago I met up with some of my internet lady friends at The Library (one of my favorite NYC bars), but they wanted to go somewhere else. I don't remember what I had been doing prior to meeting up, but by the time we left, I was a bit saucy. We got to Lit and the girls showed their ID's and went inside first. I walk up to the bouncer and show my ID (despite being 30) and he says, "Who are you with?" I thought to myself "Who am I with? Who cares who I'm with?" Actually I didn't think any of that to myself--I said it all out loud. I'm with my fucking wallet, that's who. The douchebag bouncer responded with "Are you trying to get smart with me?" as if Lit is some elite hotspot that I waited hours to get into. Normally I would've left immediately and wrote a scathing review on Citysearch that no one would ever read, but my friends came and grabbed me and I guess that was enough to get me in. Fuck that fucking place. And fuck that horse and the bouncer he rode in on.
• John McCain, Barack Obama - Oh, candidates families are off-limits now? Then why are they on the fucking campaign trail? Ok, the kid didn't ask for any of this, so she should have her personal space respected, but Gov. Palin should be accountable. How a candidate runs their family unit is an indication as to how they would run a country. Or a business. Or a bowling team. Leadership is leadership, and if Sarah Palin wants to lead, then she has got to publically examine this event in her family's life. I'm not necessarily saying that a 17-year old mother is the worst thing in the world, but I want to know if her daughter's pregnancy is a result of abstinence-only education and if Palin would continue to support something like that? I want to know how tough she wants police to be on DUI convictions knowing that her husband once had one. I want to know how Obama punishes his children. I want to know if McCain cheats at checkers. I want to know what kind of porn Biden buys. ALL OF THIS IS ABSOLUTELY RELEVANT TO THE UNITED STATES. I don't expect to vote for a perfect human being, but I certainly won't vote for a hypocrite.
• (Who am I kidding? I'm voting for John McLane.)
• People who buy giant vehicles but can't drive them - I was getting into my car two weeks ago on a Manhattan street. A space shuttle pulled up next to me and a lady rolled down the window. "Do you know how to parallel park?" she asked, clearly oblivious to the fact that I was getting into a parallel parked car. Long story short, I had to shuttlejack her vehicle to park it for her as traffic lined up down the block. BUY SOMETHING YOU CAN DRIVE, LADY, LIKE THE BARBIE DREAMCAR.
• Sexists - Yeah, I know. Sorry.
  
• Bees - I got stung by two bees in the past 8 weeks! Both times on the bottom of my foot. Well, one of the times may have been a bite, but man, that shit hurts!
• MGM - I finally bought Mr. Mom on DVD this weekend and it's not in widescreen. I thought I screwed up (I once accidentally bought a Pan-and-Scan Ghostbusters) but it turns out MGM never released it on DVD in Widescreen. Every stupid 90's CD gets a special (and usually pointless) redux for their 10th anniversary, but Mr. Mom turns 25 in full screen? Offensive.
  
• The Village Voice - They changed their format recently. Sure, the editions are smaller and probably more environmentally friendly, but I have a serious issue that transcends my concerns for the planet. The problem is they use staples now which means I can't take the pages apart easily and line my bathroom floor while I give myself a haircut. I guess I'll have to use The Onion now.
  
• Canada Dry Green Tea Ginger Ale - I forgot to post this months ago. I tried it. It tastes exactly like it promises, but I don't think anyone was begging for this hybrid. I guess I just don't get it.
  
• This Version of "Jump" -
  
• The lack of cream sodas at my local Duane Reade - That's all. I'm done here.

Puzzzzzzzzzles

Last night I realized two very important things:

1. Samuel Adams is an anagram for A Mad Mule Ass
2. Sierra Nevada is an anagram for Raised A Raven

I also played with a Rubik's Cube for some time yesterday evening. It was a 4x4 Cube, which I understand is considerably more difficult than a 3x3. I didn't even know there were different sizes. I haven't touched one of those things in twenty years. It's sick, but I sort of can't stop thinking about it. I was unable to solve the puzzle because I don't really know how the things work. I am going to have no choice but to pick one up for myself to learn its secrets.

In other puzzle news, I officially fucking hate the new Scrabble beta application on Facebook. I know this is late pass, but I actually wanted to give it a fair shot. I am going to finish the games I'm currently playing and then never touch it again. Yeah, I know it's beta, but it's ruining my Scrabble experience. I had a game going with Kevin*, an amigofriend new to Facebook. Despite the numerous bugs and play issues, we were having a close, competitive game. Then Kevin discovered that he had had a turn skipped in an earlier. We should have abandoned the game right then and there, but because we had already invested so much time patiently playing around the problems, I decided to manually skip my turn instead, and let Kevin catch up fairly. Of course, as it was so late in the game, giving Kevin two turns in a row allowed him to get to a Triple Word Score fairly easily, which turned the tide in scoring. To make a long story short, I ended up losing by a few points and now I'm crying about it.

While I actually do side with Hasbro in this whole Scrabble vs. Scrabulous intellectual property and rights debate, I think their alternative application fucking sucks. And since the customer is always right, I will be playing Wordscraper (the further adventures of the rebellious Scrabulous coders) until either Scrabble is no longer beta, or Hasbro realizes that the Scrabulous app is a thousand times better than their POS and coughs up some compensation for that renegade code.

Speaking of shit flowing downhill, Urban Dictionary's Word of the Day has been terrible every day for a long time. On top of that, UD has also added a comments option for the WOTD that is consistently filled with an even mix of pointless spam and colorful bickering. I can't really tell if the naysaying is penned by 12-year olds with no sophisticated way to express themselves or annoyed older curmudgeons like me that have chosen to regress back to a 12-year old's insult style in protest. Either way, we all agree that most of the featured words suck.

As it turns out, the majority of the interactive users are in fact 12-year olds, as I discovered by entering UD's extremely unnecessary Chat Room. This new feature was so lame that I didn't even stick around long enough to bully the kids about their horrible taste in music. Maybe I should take all my entries elsewhere, including the one apparently still under review by "editors" who are too busy sorting through all of this bullshit:

juggalin - A term used When a Juggalo Just sits around listening 2 juggalo music,watchin a dvd or doing anything involving other juggalos! by juggalopride187

bloody sundae - when someone pops a girls cherry and holds an ice cream sundae underneath so that the blood trickles down like syrup. by ovi ghosh

Nguyen-Vy - a badass guy of asian descent who plays guitar, skateboards, and does everything else amazingly. by Naked Dang

And there you have 17 hundred thousand percent of all Urban Dictionary entries... dumbasses trying to show off their shitty taste in music, their plans to invent pointless new sex terms, or just typing their own name and attempting to define it. Fuck all y'all.

Sorry there aren't any pictures in this post--I'm using the RoBeastress's computer and I just can't do anything with a Mac. How could I? This thing thinks Delete means Backspace and it's got an Eject button where the real Delete should be. Anyway, there will plenty of photos in my next entry - The RoBeast Cola Challenge, where I make an ass out of myself and get a stomach ache!

(* name not changed to protect the innocent)