Archive for June, 2006

2 Legit

June 29, 2006 | Filed under: Once Upon A Time..

“What we remember from childhood we remember forever - permanent ghosts, stamped, inked, imprinted, eternally seen.” ~Cynthia Ozick

It was Mother’s Day and in honor of my mother, my father took Peg, G and I to a hotel restaurant downtown for dinner. Despite my parents divorce years prior, I was never one of those children who wished for my parents to reconcile and live among unicorns and rainbows, so I took it for what it was and enjoyed the meal and the ‘surprise’ that both of my parents had planned for after dinner.

We were enjoying our meals, when my father tapped me on the shoulder and told me to look over there. I looked up and saw nothing. He pressed on and told me to keep looking. He pointed, I looked around and went back to my chicken fingers.

Exasperated, he grabbed my hand and made me move away from the honey mustard and brought me over to the other side of where we were seated. I noticed nothing – NOTHING – out of the ordinary and removed myself from his grip and went back to salivating over my food.

To this day, I don’t know how I missed ‘it’. The ‘It’, the man that he was trying to show me. Because then the man walked up to our table…completely nonchalantly, as if he and my father were BFFE. How do you miss a man with that unmistakable hair? Shaved on the sides into multiple lines and a little bit left on the top. And those pants?? I should’ve seen the pants from a mile away. They were HIS trademark pants. Gold Hammer pants. My father had been trying to get me to see MC Hammer, but I was too busy being transfixed by the golden fingers and French fries.

He and my father chatted for a bit, while I sat in utter silence, because I ran away from MC Hammer; I ran away like he was going to kidnap me and take me to the great Hammer Mansion where I could have all the chicken and honey mustard my little heart desired. Afterwards we left dinner for our surprise – Boys II Men of course. And on the way there my dear, wonderful father proceeded to stop every other person on the street to inform them that his daughter had just run away from MC Hammer. This is something that I have yet to live down, along with that time that I peed all over our rental car in Orlando.

A few months later, which I would presume to be the end of my Hammer hey day, G and I decided to put on a little show for all of our friends. We donned our very own Hammer Pants – G’s were denim and mine were some strange cotton type thing with neon flowers – and did my personally choreographed moves to 2 Legit.

And Lord, I thought I was hot. HOT: Because there is nothing hotter than a boobless eight year old rolling her non-existent hips and singing ‘Can’t Touch This’.

Roomie, sweet roomie

June 27, 2006 | Filed under: Humdrum

“History: gossip well told.” ~Elbert Hubbard, The Roycroft Dictionary

Other than parents and brother, I have had six roommates. Six people to (un) successfully adapt to. Six people to drive me batshit insane and contemplate taking out a small loan in order to live in peace, quiet and nakedness. I’ve been thinking about the string of poor and unsuspecting individuals that have been my roommates, over the past few days. At times smiling and remembering the good times and other times recalling the days when I really thought of how I would look in an orange jumpsuit and shackles, because I swear on my life that if I hear you and your boyfriend fucking in our dorm room, that I will shoot the both of you. What follows is a brief account of my time with each. I swear that in each case the roommate was at fault and that I was a pleasure and a wonder to behold. Honest:

Name: Amber

Dates: August 2001-January 2002, Fall Freshman year

Most Memorable moment: She was sleeping in the next bed when 9/11 happened. She was the person I looked for during the bomb threat two days later. Needless to say it was a rough month.

(Their) Batshit insanity: One day things were cool, we used my fake ID to buy Tenley Vodka and have 422 Anderson parties. She watched me puke on unsuspecting plants/showers on numerous occasions. The next day, she informed me that she was moving out and I said, alrighty then.

In the end: I was friends with the girl she went abroad with. Apparently she and this girl, Rosie, were supposed to be roommates for Senior year and then Amber disappeared off the face of the earth. No address, calls made to her father’s house were not received because the number no longer worked. She dropped out of school apparently. I was like, whatever dude, I knew she was weird and forgot about it. At the beginning of last summer, I saw her on the AU shuttle and put sunglasses on and used my purse to cover my face. She was wearing a Ruby Tuesday’s uniform. Haven’t seen her since.

Name: Kenya

Dates: January 2002 – May 2002, Spring Freshman year

Most Memorable moment: The time she took out my braids and blow dried my hair (This is fucking huge. Seriously.) Visited her family in ATL over spring break. Went to visit her in Rome, where we fought on some random Italian bridge and she ripped my new Euro-chic coat.

(Their) Batshit insanity: Ok, this one was my fault. We were cool, I went to visit her and this girl Alexis that we were friends with over Spring Break sophomore year and we had a bit of a fight, that involved me being drunk and screaming obscenities on an Italian street corner and threatening to go home. I am a shameless whore. After that we were fine I suppose and were supposed to live together Senior Year but I decided that living alone would make me less homicidal.

In the end: Kenya and I are still buds and now that she’s in GA permanently I fucking miss her man. She was my movie going buddy. We would sneak into movies all afternoon. And SHE TOOK MY BRAIDS OUT. I will never have a friend like that again.

Name: Robyn (with a fucking ‘Y’ even though it was really Robin, with an ‘I’)

Dates: August 2002 – May 2003. Sophomore year. The entire fucking year.

Most Memorable moment: The time she called me an ice princess. Also the weekend that her boyfriend was going to come stay overnight (which she only informed me of 24 hours prior to his arrival), but instead her grandmother died, so her bf couldn’t stay over and I ended up hosting my bf* after a night of jazz and five martinis. Oh, to be young, stupid and in love again. Also, that little sniper incident.

(Their) Batshit insanity: Lordy, where to start. The all black ensemble? The time she cut off all her hair in our room, so that her hair was on the fucking floor? The Hedwig and the Angry Inch poster? Her over dramatic ways? The fact that she called me a princess? Or the rampant, loud sex?

In the end: I used to see her in the Quad and contemplate throwing shit (not actual shit, but things) at her. I am mean.

Name: Kimber

Dates: May 2003 – January 2004. Summer/Fall Semester, junior year.

Most Memorable moment: Our first meeting over a trip to IKEA. Everything since then. Things that I really can’t speak of in a public forum because the Feds/my coworkers read this shit.

(Their) Batshit insanity: Now, I can’t speak poorly of Kimber, because she’s Kimber and she means a lot to me. But I will speak of her poor choice in friends (not me of course) that lead me toward the homicidal route once again. She had (or still has) this whorish friend who I hate the fury of a thousand suns for a very good reason that I cannot speak of, but still, HATE. RAGE. HATE. Kimber and I had been friends way before this other girl came along and then Kimber started to ignore me and hung out with this other girl 24/7. I was jealous and hurt, which she knows about and has since apologized for. But if you knew what this other girl did, you’d want to kick her in the shins and crash her precious Benz into Tiffany’s.

In the end: She’s still my best friend and I’m still her ‘B’. And we both think that the Chef Geoff’s downtown deserves the finger.

Name: Teresa and Victor

Dates: January 15 – May 6 2005. Spring senior year.

Most Memorable moment: When I got food poisoning and didn’t let her take care of me. She called my program supervisor concerned. That time she paid $60 for a Brita (a luxury in Spain). She used to iron my underwear. (re-read that last sentence please)

(Their) Batshit insanity: Though she meant well, Teresa was overbearing and always up in my shit. She also thought that because I don’t eat pork, chicken or beef, then that means that I eat rabbit and lamb. Duh (the hell?!) She was just lonely and wanted to take care of someone since her children were adults and didn’t need her anymore. Woman could make a mean tortilla and paella.

In the end: Lord knows what she thinks of me now, since the last time I saw her I had thrown up all over her bathroom and then mumbled something to her in a drunken stupor, while she shoved me in a cab to the airport. Hope she’s doing well.

And the reason for this post in the first place, for he is leaving me at the end of the month to move to greener pastures known as Jersey…

Name: Jam*

Dates: September 2005 – August 2006.

Most Memorable moment: JK-JE 2004. The revolving door of girls were always a good time. Never could remember their names though.

(Their) Batshit insanity: Save for a minor incident with Pepco, he was a pleasure. He cleaned when needed and always got me into great clubs and bars. He was quiet and it’s so true about da boys; They hate the drama.

In the end: He’s like my brother: My older cooler, hotter brother who likes to get me drunk with expensive drinks. He is a player and I love him for it.

Ok fine, I’m not perfect, but I swear I’ll try with the next one; especially since I don’t have a grand to blow on a two bedroom condo. I’m guessing now wouldn’t be a good time to ask if there are any takers…

*Edit to Add: So, this morning around 2 AM, I hear Jam yelling something about how he can’t handle this shit, then in the background, I hear some girl talking to him. I get up, to tell him to shut the hell up (but I would’ve been more polite. Maybe.) And when I open the door, what do I see? A tall, skinny, blonde (at least I think she was blonde) in nothing but her bra and panties.

I’m not sure if I was more disturbed by the lack of clothing (who the hell walks around someone elses apartment without clothes on??) or by the fact that this bitch was hotter than me? She was probably judging my hotness, or lack thereof. Or at least that’s what I thought at 2 AM.

Hostile Negotiations

June 26, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance.” ~Franklin P. Jones

Say there are two countries vying for a mutual space. One country is bigger than the other country and has more allies in the fight, yet still attempts to make concessions. For all intents and purposes, one country is Canada, the other is the U.S. Canada would like some of the Pacific NW. The US is willing to concede to Alaska and parts of Washington, which is fine by Canada because that’s what they had requested in the first place. Then Canada decides that she doesn’t really want Alaska and Oregon; instead, Alaska, Washington and part of Idaho. The U.S. says ok and gives into Canada, with full knowledge that the Canadians had requested something else, but fine. Then Canada still isn’t happy with Alaska, Washington and part of Idaho, she then requests, all of Idaho, but none of Washington. The U.S. says, wait a second, you asked for this, I’m giving you what you want, and so what the hell is the problem? The U.S. is irritated and rightfully so. The U.S. is unable to give in to Canada’s demand and politely requests that it accepts what has been given. What does Canada do? Canada decides to blow up part of Alaska in retaliation. The U.S. gets irritated and tells Canada that if she doesn’t take what was offered, then there will be hell to pay. Canada knows it’s smaller and weaker and lacks the allies it needs, so finally, after much confrontation and whining, Canada accepts, but not without sulking and poor behavior for the next 50 years.

Now, replace the U.S. with someone over the age of 18 and replace Canada with a three year old.

Except in this case, the three year old requests milk in a blue cup. So the adult gives the three year old, milk in a blue cup. Then the three year old changes his mind and requests milk in a Dora the Explorer cup. The adult, says ok, fine and gives the three year old milk in a Dora cup. Apparently, this is isn’t acceptable to the three year old. Even though he requested milk in a Dora cup, he doesn’t want that. Instead he wants water in a Madagascar cup. Fine, says the adult and obliges with water in a Madagascar cup. Here is where something happens that the adult is unsure of. I mean, the adult can hear and is willing to give into most things, but for some reason the three year old still isn’t happy with the choice of beverages and cups. The three year old now requests water in the Madagascar cup, but the cup given isn’t the right cup, so the cup of water gets thrown across the kitchen only to land somewhere in Jupiter’s orbit.

What does the adult do? The adult has tried to meet the demands of the three year old and has been really fucking patient up to this point and yet the three year old still isn’t happy. The adult decides to pick up said child and give him a time out until he’s 18. After the time out is over, the adult sits at the child’s level and proceeds to tell him that if he ever dares throw water at her again, so help her God, he’ll end up somewhere in Jupiter’s orbit. She puts the fear of God into the child (all with the parents consent, because the adult has taken up a vow of celibacy after all of this nonsense). The child responds with a solemn ok and is then required to apologize to his parent for being a pain in the ass.

Of course there are the times when concessions and the talking won’t work. That’s when the child doesn’t get what he wants and instead of requesting something else, the child proceeds to scream and writhe around in a car seat for 20 minutes, while the adults take bets as to how long it will last and try to figure out the physiology of a person who is able to both scream and hold their breath at the same time. Amazing, I tell ya. Truly amazing.

On my mind

June 26, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“It is sweet to let the mind unbend on occasion.” ~Horace

Because randomness is perfectly acceptable for a Monday morning…

1. So, this has been driving me crazy. So much so, that I spent a solid hour thinking about it the other evening. What is it? You ask: I have spent the past two (!) weeks, trying to get through Fight Club. After the first hour, I end up passing out. A few nights ago, I passed out after about 50 minutes, and woke up at a crucial moment involving Tyler Durden’s identity. Then I was all ‘fuck’ and have been trying like hell to get through this stupid movie, because I’m the LAST PERSON ON EARTH to see that movie. I even tried watching it all the way through yesterday, in broad daylight, wide awake, while boy wonder was napping, and I fell asleep. Finally, last night I gave up on watching the damn thing in one sitting and started where I had continuously left off. By the end I kind of wanted to just shoot my own damn self in the head because, holy hell, that was pointless. And yes, I do realize that I broke the first rule of Fight Club by talking about it, but then again, the second rule should be, “We do not talk about Fight Club, because it may bore you to death.”

2. Between Saturday and Sunday, I went outside to be with actual real life adults, twice. But had four conversations about why one isn’t being a “good listener.” Of course on Sunday when I promptly went to Chef Geoff’s downtown to eat and get drunk, I ended up having the worst service EVAH! This only made me think that being around someone who is three feet tall and can easily be persuaded to act like a normal person with the threat of a time out, may not be so bad after all.

3. The Chef Geoff’s downtown is the Bermuda triangle. If you order something, do not expect to get it at any time in the near future. In fact, your server will probably forget about it as well. Also, don’t be expected to get served a damn drink while you are waiting for your dining companion to arrive. Be prepare do take your ass to the bar and get it your own self and leave the bar tender a lovely tip, while leaving your pretentious, attitude laden server with a tip of $3.00 and a note that says “Get a clue, bitch.”

4. On Saturdays, back when I had a life, I used to run my errands and listen to “Wait, wait, don’t tell me” on NPR. This was the highlight of my week. I am not in my mid-50’s and I enjoy the hell out of NPR. I also listen to Market place so that I can get a feeling about interest rates. Once the Fed raises the interest rates again, I intend to put the money I’ve saved into a high interest savings account. I only tell you this because Savage looked at me as if I’d lost my damn mind when I told her this the other day. I also contribute to my 401K. My parents still don’t know that I got a raise and I have no intention of telling them, because I’d rather spend my earnings on a new camera, a trip to Belize and Anthropologie, than giving it to the crap ass conglomerate known as Verizon, which has the same worthiness of BofA, but a pinch more of incompetence. Those people still don’t know the difference between their head and their ass.

5. Oh, and my roommate is moving out. I am roommate-less. If anyone has an extra $750 lying around, that would be most awesome.

6. Almost forgot, the MLK Auction at Sotheby’s that I was so freaking excited to go to, has been canceled and now I am sad and now I have no reason to spend the day in NY.

X and Y

June 23, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“All men are not slimy warthogs. Some men are silly giraffes, some woebegone puppies, some insecure frogs. But if one is not careful, those slimy warthogs can ruin it for all the others.” ~Cynthia Heimel

I rely heavily upon dictionary.com and as such, I decided to take a stab at looking up the definitions for Boy and Man, respectively.

Boy

Noun

An immature or inexperienced man, especially a young man.

Man

Noun

An adult male human.

A human regardless of sex or age; a person.

Informal.

1. A husband.
2. A male lover or sweetheart.

First pointing out that there were more definitions for Boy, but the others had equally as unhelpful description and one was an offensive one that described a male servant or valet.

That said, it’s an age old conundrum and debate as to what really defines a Boy versus a Man. And given that I have never had any interest in debating these merits, it comes as somewhat of a shock to myself that my interest has suddenly surfaced.

My experience with those holding an XY chromosome is pretty standard and rather uneventful, gay male and future seer sucker wearing nitwit, not withstanding. Which is why the general surprise for suddenly being interested in anything that men do (or do not) do. But thinking about it now, I find it quite simple really: I know have some sort of comparisons to make.

You see, I have acquired two friends. Two deliciously wonderful friends, Jorge and Bri. Neither of whom have discovered that I am in fact, an awful friend who gets jealous and doesn’t know that sharing means caring. But they’ve accepted my lush status and so, so far, so good.

Nevertheless, both are men. In the age sense and in the ‘so this is what a man should be like’ sense. Or at least, this is what an actual man should be like if he went so far as to remove his head from his rectum.

What amazes me about both of them is that they are both truly wonderful people with nary a harmful thing to say. Jorge is a self proclaimed fierce friend, who has gone so far as to prove that. And well Bri and I are nothing a like on paper (which shall be attributed to him) and yet I can spend hours with him drunk and suddenly everything is hilarious, even though neither of us can ever remember what we were laughing about in the first place.

With both men, it goes beyond the fact that they make me laugh and compliment the shit out of me, it’s the way they both speak of their wives. There’s an air there; these are women that they love the spit out of and have nothing but admiration and respect for. I had the pleasure of seeing Jorge with his wife one weekend and there were those little moments that an observer rarely notices, that can send a heart a flutter. Though I’ve never met Bri’s wife, he couldn’t stop speaking of her or of his children. While some would find that annoying, I found it endearing.

It’s like a punch in the gut, when you realize that there are actual men out there who can be sweet and thoughtful. These are the men that have no qualms about telling me how they really feel about the person that they love most in the world. That punch in the gut is an awareness of wanting that same thing for myself. Both scary and utterly natural.

The only sad thing now is an understanding that I live in Washington, DC. Where the boys are actual frat boys who think that Mr. Smith’s is a good time or men, who believe that being on a crackberry all damn day, makes them holier than thou. But it’s nice to have an understanding that there is life outside the beltway and know that there is a some day.