reganomics

sometimes

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 03:07:00 -0400

A boy tells you that he wants you. You ask him again to clarify his intentions just to make sure that you’ve heard him correctly. He whispers that he really really wants you. You move in close and ask again. He holds you and tells you to stop being so silly about the whole ordeal. So you present yourself as requested. He sticks you in his pocket, fiddles with you for a bit, ignores you, then he stares at you blankly and asks what on earth you planned for him to do with you. “I think it’s supposed to be your move,” you say as you turn and walk away, his pocket lent and scent still stuck to your skin.

“You don’t want to fall in love with a Republican who rapes the earth to make his fortune, anyway.” Repeat this as many times as possible and report back in the fall.

"Ninety-nine percent of the world’s lovers are not with their first choice. That’s what makes the..."

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 02:20:30 -0400

“Ninety-nine percent of the world’s lovers are not with their first choice. That’s what makes the jukebox play.”

- Willie Nelson (via kdecember)

sometimes

Mon, 10 Jun 2013 22:24:00 -0400

Your best friend moves to your shitty ex’s brother’s neighborhood. And on your way to party with her you run to grab beer and freeze when you see your ex and his dad at the store. And you turn around, bolt to the beer aisle, grab something…anything and check out. You almost piss yourself when the old lady checker is replacing the receipt paper…but you successfully avoid contact.

I probably could have said hi. I had on light eye makeup and good hair from work and was wearing gym clothes from my workout, so I was rocking the accidentally sexy look. But gross. I really dislike that kid.

boys in cowboy boots are dangerous

Wed, 05 Jun 2013 04:13:48 -0400

You are officially warned.

nprfreshair: David Bianculli reviews the new Netflix season of...

Wed, 05 Jun 2013 03:15:00 -0400

nprfreshair:

David Bianculli reviews the new Netflix season of Arrested Development:

Since each cast member gets to take center stage for at least one episode, and it seems almost unfair to single out any of them — except for Bateman, whose dry delivery is the gravity that keeps this whole enterprise from spinning off into space. But it would seem just as unfair not to heap extra praise upon Jessica Walter and Portia de Rossi — as Michael Bluth’s mother and sister, respectively — for their fully committed, truly funny work here.

Also? Coming up tomorrow, an interview with the series’ creator, Mitch Hurwitz.

Not gonna lie, I spent the entire first two episodes thinking “huh, I didn’t realize that they recasted Portia’s part.” Then I was all “wow, the new actress they found to play Lindsay is spot-on with Portia’s Austrialian/American accent.” And then I was like “wow, Portia’s had a shit-ton of work.” And, whatev…do what you want to do. It’s not really my business to care.

on sexual assault

Sun, 02 Jun 2013 02:48:00 -0400

I was groped once.

And I realize this is the low-end of the sexual assault spectrum, but it was still classified as such when I made my police report.

I was walking home in Boston with my arms full of grocery sacks and a stranger ran up behind me and groped me several times before running away. I had taken the T home from work and I was almost to my front steps. I worked 2-10:30 and was accustomed to walking home around 11:30 when it was dark and scary and the Orange Line felt somewhat sketchy. This particular day I had an earlier shift and was walking home after hitting-up the Stop and Shop at Back Bay. It was broad-daylight so I felt safe and when I heard running footsteps I assumed it was my roommate coming to surprise me because it was around the time that she was due home from her job.

I felt a slap on my ass and I still thought it was her. Then there was more explicit groping, some filthy words said in a deep voice, and I was terrified and I froze. And as he ran away I started crying and finally turned around and just yelled “FUCK YOU!” Then I was shaking, I went upstairs, and I sobbed to my startled roommate (I LOVE YOU AMANDA) as I shared what just happened. For several days I eyed bushes and alleyways, terrified that I could be pulled into one unexpectedly.

But really, the most troubling thing about all of this is that when I told a few girls what had happened, they didn’t seem to care. One coworker started laughing uncontrollably and finally said “I’m sorry, I realize that’s scary, but that’s just a really funny story.” Another said “man, I wish that had happened to me because that’s more action than I’ve had all year.” When my father was in town that week and I had to file my police report it was awkward to walk into the precinct with him. And officer at the desk asked “what’s your report concerning” and I shakily said “sexual assault?” and my father chimed in “well not really sexual assault.” And I sat there awkwardly next to my darling father while I gave the female police officer my report and it was terrible and awful and I hope he felt like an asshole when she assured me that it was indeed that.

Weeks later, I was walking home from the T at my normal time and I felt like I was being followed. I heard heavy footsteps behind me and I panicked. I took the cops’ advice and made a more indirect route home, made eye contact with the male, and tried to slow down so he could pass me. When I started walking up my front steps and so did he, I turned around and yelled “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” He looked at me, panicked, and said “I’m really sorry…sorry…uh…I’m visiting your neighbors.” And he was, actually…but he sure took an indirect route.

I don’t really know what I’m getting at with this information, but I wanted to remind you urban ladies to be safe. And I wanted to remind you boys to be smart. And for the love of god, be somewhat supportive when someone tries to share her story about such things.

ETA: I know that JP sounds scary to some Bostonians, but it ain’t. I was living near Stony Brook….and a right when you exit the stop. Also, when I told my brothers the story they were all “STOP TALKING RIGHT NOW BECAUSE YOU ARE MAKING US MURDERY!” Sooooo…I dunno.

dreams take 2

Sun, 02 Jun 2013 02:23:00 -0400

I had a very involved dream about a lovely boy taking me to The French Laundry. He was a favorite of mine in college and although unavailable, he definitely introduced me to many aspects of my sexuality, and he was lovely, and he talked about Russian history in bed (pillow talk, not like..in bed).

So we make-out a lot before entering the restaurant where we are seated in a pub space with about 40 other people. It was less blue door and more blue neon lights in the basement windows. The maitre’d looks more like a bar trivia host than, well, a maitre’d. He welcomes us all and begins to call-out entrees and we are instructed to say “here!” when he calls out what we want to order. (I used to work closely with the FL at an old job, so I know this is as far from reality as it gets.) I say “here!” when he says “duck” he quizzes me on which cut I wanted and how much of it I wanted. I am STRESSED and feel humiliated because I’m not fancy enough to be there, but my date keeps squeezing my leg and winking at me, letting me know that I wasn’t looking too low-class or anything.

So we order, and we’re told we can come back in two days when the food is ready. (Sort of like LA Story when Steve Martin calls to make reservations and they run a credit check to see what he can order weeks in advance.) Anywho, instead of the Yountville fairyland, we are on the lovely campus of Vassar. And I share a lot of cigarettes with my date and he keeps grabbing my ass and talking about how he wants to spoil me rotten and he disappears when our reservation is called.

And I roam around the entire town looking for him. But the whole thing feels more like the set of the latest Anna Karenina and less like the campus of Vassar or Yountville. And when I finally get in touch with him on my phone, he is in California (not Poughkeepsie where the FL was located then) and I am very sad, and angry, and upset that I had to pay about $1k for the bill.

p.s. I kept referring to the FL as Per Se and I was really embarrassed when I did. My date just kissed me on the cheek and said “oh silly, we’re in Poughkeepsie, not Manhattan.” Duh, Regan.

Look Better Naked!

Sun, 02 Jun 2013 01:31:00 -0400

This exercise DVD is kicking my ass. I hope it makes me look better naked, because clothed I just look tired and overworked — like a cowboy who did too many squats.

dreams, dammit

Sat, 01 Jun 2013 07:18:00 -0400

- My car was rammed by a ram. I was driving in the rain and turned to my coworker/friend and said “do rams really ram things?” She grew up on a farm so I thought she knew. Well it rammed our car, then trampled us. Then we woke up being happy it was a dream and everyone was like “oh honey, you look awful after being in that coma. That damn ram really did you in.” Whoops.

- I had a lucid dream-off with some overweight punks who liked to throw ice at me at my coworkers. I mean, they started with ice but went to guns and each time we’d die we’d be back in the same starting position (so like a video game, I guess). Well I got in my car, they got in their Budweiser truck. I started ramping cars, they turned into a glider. Either way, I won when my car turned into a black hole to suck-up their giant Enterprise (I think?) type space ship and then I made a bunch of jokes about string theory (I know nothing about string theory except for in the 20 minutes after listening to Radiolab.)

- I was given $84mil worth of diamonds to “hold onto, until further notice.” I was told that I didn’t have to keep track of ALL of them, but as many as I could. And I really, really wanted to call off of work, buy a new (modest) car and move my butt to Texas, but everyone was like “are you sure you can afford that?” And I was all “I mean, I can get one of the smaller ones appraised and make a few $100ks and just use that money” and everyone was all “is that enough, though?” And I caved in and listened to the naysayers and worked to make about $80.

- My mom joined a cult. It was terrible, but kind of funny because it was so obviously a cult. Their website was like “get off your meds and come live with us, we’ll show you the true GuidingLight TM” and every other sentence read something along the lines of “really, I know what you’ve heard, but we’re not a cult.” It included pictures of people in white robes, special hand signals, and religious imagery. I spent the entire dream in a car with a friend of mine from work trying to confirm my suspicions that it was indeed a cult.

I should probably be a supervised study for some beginner Jungian shrink of sorts — My dreams are about as difficult to interpret as The Hungry Hungry Caterpillar.

It Is Well With My Soul - A Capella Singing (by David...

Thu, 30 May 2013 04:13:00 -0400

It Is Well With My Soul - A Capella Singing (by David Killingsworth)

Yeah. This with ten times more people. I might need to sneak into CofC services to sing half a dozen songs then sneak out before they start communion with grape juice and sermons about women remaining silent in the church.

It pretty much sounds like the Civil War Era churchy shit, really. Lined out hymondy type shit for a literate church.

p.s. This is might be why I was OK with giving a handy-j to an Amherst boy who bragged about being in an acapella group. It’s not that college acapella got me off so much that it was a skill that I was told would make a good husband at some point. Or something. I’m reaching.

on rebirth

Thu, 30 May 2013 04:07:00 -0400

A friend of mine that I knew from childhood churchy days posted video of her daughter being baptized in the church where I was raised. The particular church I was raised in is very conservative and old timey and we did full immersion baptisms in the baptismal pool behind the modest pulpit that stood before a church that held about 400 people.

And I teared up. I’m super agnostic and so thankful that I pulled myself away from my roots, but damn. Seeing a girl accepting Christ into her life in the same way I did to my father (my real father, not God) and then to be baptized in the same waters he baptized me (not He, again) was super bitter-sweet. And my sweet, sweet mother who claims not to be a feminist gave a big “fuck you” to the church when she demanded that she stood next to my father and held me with him while I was baptized. Now I’m finishing off beers and youtubing “Church of Christ hymns” and wishing there was an acapella Unitarian church nearby.

on summing up one's life

Sat, 25 May 2013 22:54:00 -0400

I’m pre-gaming a hillbilly bonfire by finishing off my craft beers and listening to the symphony-cast of Haydn. Sometimes good beer to start is all it takes to enjoy some Busch and Boone’s Farm. I have on nice lingerie underneath my leggings and t-shirt, cause a girl never knows.

on wooing a woman

Tue, 21 May 2013 04:50:00 -0400

Tell her she is brilliant and tell her she is funny. Tell her she is lady and tell her she is a slut. Tell her she is beautiful and detail exactly why. Let her know that you can build a campfire and prepare a fantastic meal over said fire. Mention fancy work shit and mention that you’d rather be killing time on your vintage motorcycle and pampering her. Let her know how you would cuddle her in a way that rivals the best erotica. Call her your girl. Wrap things up nicely by telling her that you can still pitch in the lower 80s.

sometimes

Mon, 20 May 2013 03:14:00 -0400

you hear a story on an NPR weekend show about an English man stumbling into a NYC sex dungeon and meeting his soul mate. And the details about the two of them having a lot of plastic surgery to look like one another and details about how their sex life was transcendental and make you want to explain everything to your sexy Texan but you can’t figure out how to word things properly.

Sigh. That was a very lovely story, though.

This one…the last story.

on nightmares and crocodile tears

Mon, 20 May 2013 00:58:00 -0400

I’m a very vivid dreamer with frequent stress dreams and infrequent nightmares — last night was one of the shitty nights. I kept waking up in my bed but unable to move, then waking up in the dream in my childhood bedroom and unable to move. And after many cycles of this, I finally realized within my dream that a large man was pinning me down. And finally after a few cycles of that, I realized I was dreaming and finally was able to move within the dream. Then I was in my childhood house with a lot of scary/important looking men deciding how they were going to get rid of me. I called my mom, but she was busy talking about something else, and I dialed 911 but they kept putting me on hold. As I ran down the street looking for help, everyone was pointing a gun at me.

Work was stressful in a shitty, unnecessary way. I had too many tables way too late and as things were winding down and I was pissed about missing desserts and everyone else closing up shop, I hit my head on a door that was jammed by a broom handle that didn’t belong there. And I held my head until I was sure I hadn’t split it open and then I just sobbed because GODDAMN THAT HURT! And ooohhhh I am not a crier.* Sometimes I get drunk and cry a bit. Sometimes I go to funerals and cry a bit. Sometimes I go to weddings and shed maybe a tear. But other than that, I am NOT someone who is okay with crying. So I was sobbing, mortified, holding my head, and searching through the kitchen for the dessert I needed…then sobbing at the prospect of going to my tables when I’ve obviously been crying. It was cathartic, sorta, since I don’t cry very much at all….but it was terrible.

So, I got a 6 pack of IPA, changed into lingerie, and turned on Jeopardy reruns. I’m hoping the gumball-sized knot on my eyebrow turns into a giant black eye so they send me home tomorrow but for now I’m settling on how good it feels to hold the chilled bottle to my face.

p.s. Jeopardy is over but Austin City Limits is on PBS and that makes me happy. It’s easy to romanticize about a city that has good music, good booze, good food, and a sexy man in boots who paints a pretty picture of what life would be like if I were to find myself back in those parts.

*I realize crying isn’t a sign of weakness, but tell that to my brain…

on taking risks

Sun, 12 May 2013 04:20:35 -0400

Eating a curry dish with both frog legs and nuts is pretty dangerous. Something crunchy is either a delicious nut or a teeth-crunching bone.

scooterpiebanana: Or libertarians for that matter. Easier said...

Sun, 12 May 2013 04:16:45 -0400

scooterpiebanana:

Or libertarians for that matter.

Easier said than done.

sometimes....

Sat, 11 May 2013 23:58:00 -0400

You see pictures of a coworker’s wedding on facebook and notice that a guy you’ve slept with (several times) is the type of guy who wears a short-sleeved button down plaid shirt to a wedding.

Please excuse me while I give myself a stern talking to and finger-pointing-while-peeing-myself-laughing-on-the-floor. Ugh.

I need to remind myself not to casually drink all my booze so when I need a stiff drink at 3am to...

Thu, 09 May 2013 04:41:02 -0400

I need to remind myself not to casually drink all my booze so when I need a stiff drink at 3am to help knock me out there’s booze in the house. Boo.

3am phone call with the sexiest man you’ve ever met? Yes please. Texan accent and varsity level...

Wed, 08 May 2013 04:44:08 -0400

3am phone call with the sexiest man you’ve ever met? Yes please. Texan accent and varsity level cussing might cost you extra. He claims to be figuring out ways to make you crush on Texas almost as much as you crush on him.