Hospitaliano

Really just hospitality, but the Olive Garden's term is like a superlative version of the word in my mind.

So, it's about 7:30 am, and I'm in someone's guest bedroom (2 x 1) while I visit a prospective school. It's been interesting to notice how distinct the culture of each program is. This one is big on support and connection, which is great. But, one of the ways that has manifested is that most of my waking hours are accounted for and spent with someone during the visit.

My hosts, who are great, are early risers- so I have early morning companionship. Then, I'm taken to campus, where I'm met by program emissaries, and taken to my first meeting. The meeting goes well, and is brought to conclusion by a kind soul who has shown up to walk me to my next meeting.

This process continues until lunch, where I leave my most recent appointment to find a group of students (my lunch companions waiting for me), and one of the staff members holding my coat so that I wouldn't have to go pick it up. (Hospitality, right?)

So, we lunch, and I'm walked back into the care of someone else, this process continues until dinner, which is at someone's home. After dinner, I'm brought home to meet and debrief with my supercool hosts.

Day 1 of the visit has been great. But, here is what I wonder at 7:45 am, heading into Day 2:

"Uhm- when can I take a shit?"

80's/90's Dancers

Ok- so I've been checking out the old school cheese music videos lately, and I was watching some Lisa Lisa & The Cult Jam (The hotness!). Didn't they split up at some point, and The Cult Jam tried to release something on their own? Right? Because Lisa Lisa was holding them back. Uh-huh.

So anyway- some good old, "Lost in Emotion" or (Oh- remember The Jets?!?! "You must have heard it from my best friend..."), and I was noticing the dancers. Clearly gayness shows thru dancing whether we're in acid-washed jeans or in tuxedos dancing next to Madonna. But, I was looking at the dancers and they way that they stuck moves really hard, and in my opinion over-punctuating dance moves. Then I looked at Taylor Dane's video with the two dancers in the background and wondered why of the Chorus Line of folks that must have auditioned, why these two made the final cut.

So, some folks must have gone home wondering why they didn't get the job. Now, I have no idea how the world of professional dance works, but I wondered if folks in the 80's would leave and think that they should beef up their resume.

What would a resume of a professional dancer in the 80's/90's even look like?

Jason "Tron" Williams

Objective: To obtain employment with a troupe that staffs popular music videos across a range of genres.

Education:
Antioch College
Major: Theater
Minor: Eastern European Existentialism

Music Video Experience:

* Debbie Gibson
* Michael Jackson (Thriller- I came out of the ground in the graveyard scene)
* Terrence Trent Darby
* Big Daddy Kane
* Madonna Alternate (Rehearsed the "push-away...and come back"move with her)
* Janet Jackson (Row 13, column 7 dancer in Rhythm Nation)

Proficiencies:
The Prep
Cabbage Patch
Reebok (both hard and soft shoulder roll)
Running Man (I can really sell this one)
Roger Rabbit
Bus Stop

Anything from Cats!
Being pushed and falling to the ground on one hand, while looking into the camera with a pouty face.
Strike a pose, any pose and mean it!
Walking toward the camera, and then turning around to walk away from it.
Walking toward the singer, and then being pushed into a group of other dancers and walking away with them.
*I can take any move, and break it down on cue.

I'm Cuter Than Taylor Dane?

Huh. Not bad.

That was my first thought this morning. "Huh. I guess I'm cuter than Taylor Dane. Not bad." Then I rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom, realizing that I probably have lots of strange and interesting first waking thoughts. I considered keeping a journal to record them (for about .04 seconds) and then decided that would feel like far too much work for a few moments of, "Oh yeah...Ha! That was a funny one." Nah, plus I blog already- so it feels redundant.

Anyway, I'm cuter than Taylor Dane- maybe. 2 things led my sleeping mind to this conclusion whilst I dreamed of whatever I dreamed of. (I thought about a dream diary a couple of times too. Not gonna do that either.)

1. Taylor Dane's Music Producers Think She's Ugly

I was watching TD's video the other night when I was all jacked up on caffeine, and I noticed that the video's quality was kinda poor. Then I watched it again, and realized that the picture quality is fine at the beginning of the video; it's pixelated when the focus of the shot is TD's face. In fact, in some shots it looks like the only part of the screen that's pixelated is her face and hair as she moves across the screen. In the 90's I guess that could pass for, "Look at this cool digital effect!" but today it's pretty clear what's up when I paint you with stage/clown make-up, and blur the screen every time the viewer would focus on your face.

Out of curiosity, I decided to check out one of her other videos to see how she was handled. It's hilarious! They don't pixelate her, they cover her face with her hair for every shot! You don't get a full-on facial shot of TD, which is strange because she's a solo singer. In fact, there's one shot where it looks like they are bringing the camera in for a close-up, regular, standard shot of a solo singer's face in their music video when all of a sudden someone yells, "Hey boys! Back it up, her hair is is a bun, we can't turn on the fan!! Back it up!"

Her producer's think she's ugly. (-gasp-) How embarrassing for her. Also, if anyone out there knows TD, and she never realized this, point her to my blog so that she knows to be ashamed and feel bad, and then come to peace with it.


2. I'm currently ranked #1 in the Sexiness ranking among my friends on Facebook!

My current rank: #1
See my SEXY FRIENDS

Now let's be honest. This is a bit more sophomoric and juvenile and shallow and whatevaaah.... I'm number 1!!! Number 1 bitchezzzzzz!!!!!! And, I have some damn sexy friends. Not too many schleps. Like most human beings, I'm drawn to people that I find attractive, even just to hang out and go to the movies with. My friends are attractive. So, what does that mean? That's right, I'm attractive. Subjective assurances masked as objective verification, but it gets the job done.

So, here's the rub: I thought that this application ranked everyone as number one, and then displayed your friend's rankings. Uhh...nope. It's not the Special Olympics where everyone's a winner. I'm number one.

I don't know what that means. Most of my friends don't have the Sexiness application? Most of those that do are too progressive(?) to use it? I have no idea- all of that comparative attractiveness stuff gets really confusing really quickly.

But, what I can tell is that a tiny piece of my self-esteem has become attached to my current ranking. And, I will have to renegotiate these feelings if I fall to number two, or three, or God-forbid 11! (I wish there were some way to vote for yourself so that I could boost my ranking if I fell.) I can tell both that it's silly, and that it rubs up against my narcissism.

So, overnight my sleeping mind must have pulled together some thoughts and concerns, and offered me a comfort this morning. The unspoken context is, "Even if your Sexiness rating falls, and your ass stays flat, and your hairline keeps receding, and you get bad breath, and your piss starts to smell like ammonia, and ..." at least I'm cuter than Taylor Dane.

My Ass!

I find that I say it a lot. If I really disagree with something, almost reflexively out pops, "My Ass!" It's disagreement mixed with disdain.

I'm not sure exactly why, "my ass" is synonymous with vehement disagreement, but it is in my mind. Not just, "ass," or "fuckin' ass!" No, "my ass." If you hear me say it, that means I disagree with you.

So, I have a strange relationship with my ass. I'm a little disappointed in her. I used to be a HUGE fan of my ass. It was firm and taught, and perky, kinda muscular actually. More than once in life I thought about trying to bounce a quarter off of it.

I remember the first time I saw a woman in a club break it down and make her ass jiggle like a (there's no word to describe the experience of watching a professional ass jiggle) motor?

I was so excited that when I got home that night I stood in front of the mirror and tried to make my ass jiggle. "Whew- okay... just relax. She probably just learned how to relax her ass muscles over time and that's how she makes it jiggle... reelaaaaaax." I learned over the next few years that my ass could jiggle, but it didn't have a damn thing to do with whether I was relaxed or tense.

So, over time and with a lot of hard effort, I lost some of my jiggleableness. Uh- but now my ass is flat. Flu-at. Nasitol? That's me.

So, I'm a little embarrassed and ashamed of her. I used to get ass compliments. Now, I just try not to sit on anything hard, because I wonder if my pelvic bones are causing nerve damage to my glutes from the pressure of pinching them between two hard surfaces. I hope there's mucus, or some other natural lining to keep my pelvis from bisecting my ass.

I can't tell if it's just from getting older. But, when I look out, I don't see other Black women with saggy butt-cheeks. I see asses that make me think about moving my body like a cyclone.

No more ass... just back with a crack... Honestly, it makes me wonder if I'm mixed heritage.

I wish I knew what to do! I thought about doing squats, but then I felt all embarrassed in the gym, like people are thinking, "Awww... Bless her heart. Look at that flat-assed Black woman over there trying to bulk-up in the back."

I remember I was talking to my mom a few months ago, and I was telling her how upset I was that my ass was gone. And in pure mom-fashion, she cut straight to the heart of the issue.

Mom: "Have you been running?"

Me: "Yes."

Mom: "Well, that's where you ass went."

Well, Damn! I Guess You're Right!

My favorite showtune. There's certainly a lot that can be said about it, but I don't know how long the link will be good, so I'll just post it.

Avenue Q - Everyone's a little bit Racist
Uploaded by slzaza

Caffeine is a Drug!

It all started about 9 hours ago, with a completely benign thought. "You know, I bet an espresso with some chocolate would be tasty while I finish up my exam."

Sounds simple enough, right? Yeah, I thought so too.

Unfortunately, it's coming up on 1am, I have to get up for work in 5 hours, and I've just come off of digging up NKOTB songs! "Hangin' Tough... WE'RE ROUGH!!" I spent some time in old school Michael Jackson. (Mamasay Mamasa Mamakusa!!) I added some Facebook friends, and sent out about 15 bazillion e-mails. I posted some ridiculous things on friends' pages, and abused my e-mail provider like an IM utility.

Luckily, I've stopped dancing. But that exam? I bet it would be complete if I hadn't had that damn espresso!

Jamie Lee Curtis

So, this is a little odd, but I think JLC is kinda sexy! It's funny, because I don't feel the least bit uncomfortable talking about nutsacks, or skin sensitivity on the head of a penis versus the clitoris, but admitting to myself that I think Jamie Lee Curtis is attractive- that was a little surprising, and slightly unsettling. First thought, "Oh shit. QUICK! Who are all of the Black actresses that I think are sexy?"

-whew-

Blackness still in tact. Internalized racism held at bay.

(...must...not...succumb to eurocentric constructions of beauty... must remember...that those are western paradigms...must hold out... wait a minute! I just think the lady is beautiful; doesn't mean I hate myself. But, one more for good measure!)

Also, I think it's surprising to me, because I didn't find her attractive when she was younger. In fact, I remember learning that she was somewhat of a slasher-film, "oops my breasts just popped out" heartthrob. Really? Jamie Lee Curtis? Huh. You don't say...

I think it's the grey/silver hair. When I go back and look at pictures of her with brown hair- nothing. The more recent gray shots? "Wow! Is that Jamie Lee Curtis?" The grayer she gets, the better she looks. I even like the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. It makes her look like she's smiled a lot in life, and it makes me want to touch the contours of her face.

Maybe I'll write her a letter and tell her, "Take heart! I'm beginning to find you attractive."

On another note, has anyone ever looked for a "good" photo of Gabrielle Union? As strikingly beautiful as she is, it's a really tough job. Her makeup must be done by the same company that recorded Bobby Brown's music- The Magicmakers. Honestly, I began to wonder if she was a real person, or if she was just some composite images, perhaps computer generated, that were added to movies. Gabrielle Union may in fact be complex CGI technology at play.

The folks that "play" Union at events all look remarkably different. Google her and see for yourself. None of them hold a candle to the character's on-screen beauty. Unlike Nia Long. If Nia wants to show up in my weak montage 3 times I don't have a problem with it.

"How about Nia from this angle? What about when her hair is like this?"

Maybe I'll go back and pull up images of women that I find attractive and see if there are common characteristics, beyond "I know it when I see it."

I remember years ago, in Teen Beat, or some other such rubbish, there was an article about the women that Patrick Swayze had dated, and all of them looked remarkably similar. I think I'll throw together some images and find out what my archetype looks like...

I'm gonna be pissed if they all look like Jamie Lee Curtis!

It's Just Better to be a Girl

I know that most of the time when discussing gender, men are preferenced above women, and it's assumed that, if given the option, girls would much rather trade in our girlness to become boys.

You know who believes that? Men.

I remember a long time ago, maybe way back in college, I was talking to a friend about Freud, penises, and locker rooms. And at the end of the conversation we'd concluded that this notion of penis envy was something that men suffered from. Anxiety and insecurity wrapped up in some sense of self-esteem and perceived valuation by others. Men and boys without good locker room penises, or "hey look at this, let's have sex!" penises have lots of conversations with themselves about their worth and value within the context of how things would be better if their penis were more impressive. So, it's not that big of a leap to then say, well how much more must girls suffer since they don't even have one?

Nope, not really.

Certainly, it's more convenient when I'm desperate to find a bathroom, and I have to pee so bad my eyes are watering. But then, once I find one and the pressure is off I wonder, "would I be the kind of man who pisses in the street?" And, of course it would be cool to find out how sex is different with a penis. But, that's more like, "what does paella taste like?" I wouldn't want one strapped to me for life. And, I remember listening to some show on the radio talk about sex and anatomy, and the doctor mentioned in passing that the clitoris has many more nerve endings more tightly packed across its surface area than the head of a penis, which translates into more sensitivity, greater pleasure, and a more powerful orgasm. The day I heard this my curiosity wained.


I remember having a chat with a good friend about skin and how it's more and less sensitive on different parts of our body, and how more sensitive tissue looks and feels different. And the conversation turned to nuts.


"I know they're super sensitive to kicks, and trauma, but that's because you're carrying around these really important reproductive devices in there, so your body's triggered to alarm you if anything damaging may happen; protect your nuts. But is the skin on your nuts sensitive like your forearm, your armpit, the shaft of your penis, the head of your penis? What's up with the nuts?"


So, he explained that it was somewhere between shaft and armpit, and the skin that's adapted to being slightly moist/barely damp all the time. Which got me to thinking...

"Are those slightly moist/barely damp nuts resting on your thighs right now?"

"Hmmm... yeah, I guess they are."

"Are they always leaning up against your thighs, cuz I'm kinda compact down there. It seems like having nuts would be a little annoying."

"You know I never thought about it, but I guess they are always touching me. Thanks for pointing that out, friend."

I think guys are great, but I would never want to give up being a girl. And, plenty of times throughout my day/week/life I get reminders of how much I like being a girl; sometimes they come in the form of how glad I am that I'm not a guy, but usually how glad I am that I'm a woman. This pic just happened to be one of them.

Yeah, I know it's not facebook

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Midland "You have a Midland accent" is just another way of saying "you don't have an accent." You probably are from the Midland (Pennsylvania, southern Ohio, southern Indiana, southern Illinois, and Missouri) but then for all we know you could be from Florida or Charleston or one of those big southern cities like Atlanta or Dallas. You have a good voice for TV and radio.
The South
Philadelphia
The West
The Northeast
The Inland North
Boston
North Central
What American accent do you have? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

I thought this was kinda fun, since for years after I moved to the states, people would interrupt me within the first few sentences of our conversation to ask "Where are you from?!?"

Why did they ask? Because I didn't have an accent that they could place, but clearly I was American. Years that shit went on, years. At least once a week through college someone would tell me that I should be a newscaster; I had the perfect Midwestern, nondescript American-English accent. Every now and again I get it still, but what I think is odd is that far more often I get asked, "Where are you from, New York?"

Really, New York?

I sound nothing like a New Yorker, but I get asked 10 or 12 times a year. And, when I go to NY I get asked if I'm from Brooklyn.

Look, I know that's a borough with a lot of pride, but I think the insinuation is absurd. Brooklyn? Nigga please.

Blogette III

Please drink your water.

Listen up ladies. It's just not fair to other people (me) who need to use the bathroom after you.

I don't like being assaulted by the smell of ammonia because your piss is so strong it makes my eyes burn even after you've flushed it down the toilet.

There may be other health benefits, but out of consideration for the next woman in the bathroom, please drink your water.

Social Isolation inthenameof Education

Huh. I'm just not sure.

So, I'm in the middle of making some decisions that will lead to big life transitions, and it looks like there's no real "right answer." I'm trying to decide where to go to school, and I'm a little frustrated that the programs that most excite me are in places that would leave me socially isolated.

Uhm- Black people invented snow!

{Not really, but I remember growing up that whenever I didn't like something some sage older Black person would appear and tell me a story that began with,

"Did you know that a Black man actually invented..."

I'm all for infusing racial pride into little Black children; God knows we need it, but there's a time and a place. "Yes, Little one, [cue music with windchimes] his name was Thornton Blaxton. He was a poor farmer from Mississippi, and even though he only had one eye due to a terrible accident during his birth in the slave quarters, he taught himself to read by candlelight. (Did I overhear that you weren't getting an A in your reading class?) Anyway, Thornton eventually managed to save up enough money to buy his freedom and the freedom of his family (Did I overhear that you didn't want to share your candy with your sister?). They moved into a house that Thornton bought and began to raise crops and animals.

Well, over time Thornton's eyesight began to dwindle even more, and he ultimately lost his sight. Crops weren't a problem, but how could Thornton take care of his animals? How could Thornton even find his animals if he couldn't see them? [Dramatic pause] Well, Thornton had an idea. He put a post in the middle of his corral, and tied ropes to it. And, at the end of each rope was one of his animals. But, how would he know which was which? It certainly would take Thornton all day to follow his ropes only to keep finding cows and chickens when all he wanted was a pig, so he came up with a brilliant idea! Thornton created different knots for each kind of animal, so when he went to the post, he could just feel for the kind of knot he wanted and then follow that rope out to the pig, or cow, or chicken, or whatever animal he wanted.

Well, one day, after hearing about Thornton's brilliance, some white people came to visit Thornton and asked him to teach them how to use his system. So, Thornton taught them how to tie all of his knots.


Well, one of the white men decided to bring his son, John. And Thornton worked with John for hours everyday teaching him how to tie all the different knots and then taking John out for ice cream. Well, years later, as times changed, John founded the Ku Klux Klan. And the knot that he taught all of his Klan members to use when lynching Black folks was "the ice cream knot" that he learned from Thornton.

So, anytime you see a Black person strung up on a tree, know that it was Thornton Blaxton a Black man, who invented the noose.}

So yeah- I'm stuck about my decision for school. I don't think that social isolation is the price I'm willing to pay for a "great education"; primarily because I can't learn much if I'm depressed and filled with ire for white people.

BUT!! The whole reason I started this blog was because I decided to start using my brain again, in an "If you build it, they will come" approach to claiming conversation partners in my life. Well, man! The program I just looked at had conversation partners like a mug!

City? Sux!
School? Sux!
Department? Gem!

I felt alive in ways that I hadn't in a long time; able to spend time with people who've carved out space in their lives to get paid for the thinking that they do. It was a refreshing treat to listen to long-winded and thoughtful answers to my questions, "Well, your question makes me think of three things...and I say all of that to help you understand the context in which I'm framing my response...certainly the quick answer to your question is ______, but what gets more to the heart of your question is... So, I would answer you question by saying... Also, you may want to consider... Oh! And, one quick thing I want to add..."

MMmmmm...home...

It was great to be with folks who could both talk and listen like that; folks who could take in the whole of my question and respond to it, rather than forcing me to break my questions down into bite-sized, pre-chewed, single-concept ideas. It was enlivening. But this gem of a program is stuck in a shitty town with few Black folks, on an unattractive campus with fewer Black folks, or Hispanics, some Asians- but that "model minority" bullshit doesn't set us up to be down like 4 flat tires like Black and Brown people are.

Anyway, this shit is hard to think through.

Blogette II

If you have bad breath, please don't lean in to talk to me. You can be emphatic from right where you are.

Also, please don't tell me any secrets, because now I'm not going to breathe the whole time you're whisper-thrusting your bad breath in my face.

Captain Planet!

I thought this crap was off the air, but I guess not. Check out the Hitler clip in the cue after the theme song finishes to see what utter rubbish this show was/is. First of all, what's up with Hitler's mustache? What are they worried about, copyright infringement? This show sucks. The heavy-handed commentary is obtuse, and the never-say-die commitment to milk out as many puns/minute reminds me of bad action movies in the 80's. Pretty much this show is the reason I don't recycle. (In fact, even at home I use plastic cups both so that I don't have to wash them, and so that I can throw away more plastic.) CP only came on for a season or two in Germany, and then we got the cool shit, like Gasthaus.

But back to Captain Planet, I went to a game the other night and there in front of the escalator was CP. Wow! Really? CP, "What the fuck are you doing here?" and "I wish I had my camera" rose in tandem.

So, around the corner was a woman with a table and literature set up asking little kids, "Do you wanna be a Planeteer?" She never addressed their parents, she targeted little kids to get the parents to stop while the kids signed up on some clipboard and presumably gave over their phone numbers, addresses, and shit like that. I don't know if there was any cost, but it got me to thinking...

What's up with this cartoon franchise? Are they linked up with some larger anti-corporate green militant movement? They aren't interested in kids when they're posted up in an arena, they're looking for parents. If you're looking for kids, set up a website and tell kids about it during and after your cartoon. Have links to your site on your toys and paraphernalia that you give away at schools when your guy in a CP suit comes to speak at the auditorium. Post up to snag kids while their parents/guardians are on their way to catch a game? You're hunting the adult of the species.

So, curious- I stood and watched for a long time. Like over 10 minutes long time. No one stopped. She was able to grab a couple of kids, but their parents whisked them away. Finally, a Black man with 3 young girls stopped. None of the girls looked over 9, and what was curious was that he proceeded to have a conversation with this white woman, not about the planet or the environment, but that this is what it means to be a good father. Look at what a great father he is by getting his girls involved (involved in being on a mailing list) from a young age. When sporadically, he would turn to his girls he would say things like, "That's right girls, you have to be involved and know what's going on." He didn't say anything about the environment or pollution, or earth, fire, wind, water, or heart. (Is heart an element? The fifth element?)

It reminded of some marketing research I came across a few years ago which surveyed parents on the whining, pouting, and tantrum behaviors in their children, and how the parents responded to it. The survey was framed in such a way that you would think it was about children's behavior and parent disciplinary responses. What the parents didn't know is that the data was being collected for Mattel, or some other huge toy company, to be used by their advertising and promotions department.

"What is the breaking point for parents, and how can we more effectively market to children to get them to whine, complain, and tantrum their parents to their breaking point more consistently so that our sales increase?"

They were changing their marketing strategy to specifically target children toward getting them to more effectively manipulate their parents into making decisions that the parents wouldn't make if they weren't under duress.

So, that's what this lady made me think of as she stood there for minutes at a time, completely mute until some elementary-aged kids walked by. And then, she only ever addressed the children. The only "sale" she got was someone who seemed less interested in environmental preservation than getting some affirmation that he was indeed a "good father." What was that about?

After awhile I got bored with it, grabbed a beer, and watched the game.

We won!!!!

Suzie's Revenge

Pretty much, I hate Suzie. For real, pretty much I hate her. I hate her so much that I didn't even give her a fake German name on my blog.

Susanna- there are German chicks named Susanna.


So, a few days ago, Suzie thought it would be a great idea to dismantle my towel rack in the bathroom and throw it away, and then save the day by creating space for all of my towels on a bookshelf.

Okay- so I made time to go buy a replacement so that I could get my towels off the bookshelf and be rid of this lingering reminder of the manic insanity that slept across the hall from me for far too many nights.

So, I head out to one of those big box stores, and pick up lots of cool shit like detergent, and grab a bathroom storage rack. Well, the week has been hectic to say the least, and consequently, I have had a half-assembled bathroom storage rack on the floor of my bedroom for 4 nights and 5 days.

I'm headed out of town for a couple of weeks, and the last thing I want to see when I get home to drop off my bags is a fucking bathroom storage rack in the middle of my bedroom floor. So, I finally bit the bullet and just put the whole thing together. Only 2 screws were missing, so whatever. It's done.

Oh no! You can't put together a bathroom storage rack and just stick it over the toilet. No Ma'am. You've got that big fucking stability bar at the bottom preventing you from doing that.

So, I had to take that off, then place the rack over the toilet, and then hang out around the toilet to re-attach it. (Like reaching behind and underneath, and having my t-shirt brush up against the outside of the bowl, "hang out around the toilet." For those that don't know, I've got some dirt and germ phobias. I don't normally think of them as phobias, because they seem completely well-reasoned and rational to me. Uhm- germs are fucking gross and I don't want them on me whenever it can be avoided. But, I use the term phobia so that folks can appreciate just how strong my aversion to "dirt" actually is. Huh- maybe it is a substitute for neurotic handwashing?)

So there- reaching around the back of the toilet in tight spaces where screwdrivers don't completely reach; forcing you to use some creative maneuvering. There. I get this thing put together, and it's wobbly. Stable is nowhere in the list of descriptives. But, you know what- I just need somewhere to stick my towels. I can live with it.

So, I start unloading my towels, and it's laughable. This contraption only holds 4 towels. WHAT?!?!? Yes, 4 towels. And, what's worse is that there are these tiny little bars around each shelf. They're all bowed down under the weight of the towels. Concave accents? It looks ridiculous. It's not functional, and to buy another one means, hunting it down- comparison shopping, looking for *features*, then assembling it so that another t-shirt is gonna brush up against the toilet bowel. Plus, I still have to disassemble and return this one.

I have hundreds of dollars worth of useless shit in boxes or with tags still on it, because it's such a pain in the ass to return stuff. Waiting in line, explaining, having them "check it out" to see if they'll accept it, looking for a receipt, "store credit, we only offer store credit after 12 hours, "why didn't you bring it back right away then?" Meh! I've been wearing clothes that don't fit me to work, because after having them in my closet for 3 months I finally accepted that I wasn't going to return them. So, "I may as well get my money's worth" and wear clothes that don't fit me to work. (I think I'm a little bit retarded in that spot...)

Damn, crazy lady! You are really sticking it to me over here.

Why so much violence?

I got a new boss this week. she's a black woman, so I feel like I have the room to be more playful with her.

We had a brief meeting today to plan a training and a trip. At the end of the meeting she murmured something as I was walking out the door.

Me: "What?"

Her: "Uhm- I think you heard me."

Me: "No, I didn't. What did you say?"

Her: "I said, 'another one of your 'yo mama jokes' and Ima whup yo ass!'"

Me: "You gon whup my ass?"

Her: "Up here in front of all these white folks. Don't make me pull out my blackness- whup yo assss."

That exchange made my whole day. I love working with black women!!

Second highlight:

We just got a new addition to our department. And, her old supervisor stopped by to chat with me today.

Me: "Uhm- I'm still kinda new here, so I don't fully understand everything that goes on. And, when we start talking about other people's responsibilities beyond my division, I have no clue!"

Her: "Uh-huh."

Me: "But, I have a question, and I was wondering if you could help me understand something."

Her: "Sure!"

Me: "Okay, so we're getting Birget, but before she is transferred, the work that was previously spread between your section is now being done by Birget all by herself."

Her: [nods]

Me: So, now that she's doing the work of three people, what are ya'll going to be doing.

Her: [full-body cringe] "words- words-words..."

My boss (as I'm telling her the story): [sigh], "She wanted to punch you in the head didn't she?"

Me: "Really? I didn't think it was rude. I mean, I didn't say it in a rude way. I even cushioned it with, 'I don't understand everyone else's responsibility...'"

My boss: "She wanted to punch you in the head."

Oh- okay.. AND another thing! oh- okay...

I met with my landlord today. Ready to cuss his muthafukin ass owt! But, he listened to me. Validated what I said. Apologized to me. Explained a broader context to misunderstandings, and maintained that my perspective was valid. He listened, didn't interrupt, and was incredibly accommodating. I guess my decision to authorize myself to be a bitch was short-lived.

It's nice, because I haven't "had to be a bitch" in years. It's fueled by rage, so I hardly notice it during the whole unfolding of the ordeal, but afterwards...

Man! That shit is draining.

Did He Just Take Mississippi?

Looks like Barack, excuse me, Mr. Barack will be the next POTUS.

I heard that Strom Thurman voted for him, in absentia of course.

Oh- and "Fuck You" Geraldine Ferraro.

Blogette I

Hairy women?

Uhm- no thanks.

Sooze II

It's like a bad horror movie that keeps cranking out sequels. My live-in is gone, but my landlord has decided to move her mother in. I can be really accommodating, in fact too accommodating, for an incredibly long time. Too long.

And, I've hit my threshold. So, I'm about to hang out in unyielding, unreasonable, tending toward, "What a bitch."

I don't know how long I'll have to hang out in the space of "unreasonable angry black woman" with him. But, I needed somewhere to mark that I actually hit a point where I made a decision to attack him to get him to stop his attacking me, because all of my "reasonable efforts" have been ignored.

If I don't have somewhere I note that I've decided to attack someone, somewhere along the process I wonder why I'm being so unreasonable. Of course I'm being unreasonable. Uhm- I'm attacking you.

This whole scenario is fucking ridiculous.

And I Was Just Going to Vote for Him Cuz He's Black

I got the e-mail below from a friend with a lot of commentary. I've cleaned up his comments (I think I got most of them.) I didn't realize a lot of these things about Obama; I'm assuming they're mostly true. I'm not motivated to do a whole lot of fact checking.

I was just gonna vote for him cuz he's Black.

Reading it makes me wonder whether it's Obama propaganda "disguised" as an attack, like the Bush/Rove call campaigns in the last presidential election where they called their base constituents posing as Kerry/Edwards folks reminding people to come out and support Kerry because he supports gay rights issues.

Even when I put on my Edward Banfield thinking cap, it's hard for me to see some of these things as legitimate criticisms, and Banfield asserted that the way to fix the "Negro problem" would ultimately have to be taking Black children and have them raised by white families. Over time, of course, over time this would fix things for everyone.

Old school conservative ideologues are funny, especially when they're serious.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


We are witnessing a political phenomenon with Barack Obama of rare magnitude. His speeches have inspired millions and yet most of his followers have no idea of what he stands for except platitudes of "Change" or that he says he will be a "Uniter". The power of speech from a charismatic person truly can be a powerful thing. Certainly Billy Graham had charisma and both his manner of speech and particularly the content changed millions. On the extreme other hand, the charisma of Adolph Hitler inspired millions and the results were catastrophic. Barack Obama certainly is no Hitler or a Billy Graham, but for many Americans out there feeling just like a surfer who might be ecstatic and euphoric while riding a tidal wave, the real story is what happens when it hits shore.
Just Some of What Defines Barack Obama:


· He voted against banning partial " birth abortion.
· He voted no on notifying parents of minors who get out-of-state abortions.
· Supports affirmative action in Colleges and Government.
· In 2001 he questioned harsh penalties for drug dealing.
· Says he will deal with street level drug dealing as minimum wage affair.
· Admitted marijuana and cocaine use in high school and in college.
· His religious convictions are very murky.
· He is willing to meet with Fidel Castro, Hugo Chavez, Kim Jung Il and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.
· Has said that one of his first goals after being elected would be to have a conference with all Muslim nations.
· Opposed the Patriot Act.
· First bill he signed that was passed was campaign finance reform.
· Voted No on prohibiting law suits against gun manufacturers.
· Supports universal health-care.
· Voted yes on providing habeas corpus for Guantanamo detainees.
· Supports granting driver's licenses to illegal immigrants.
· Supports extending welfare to illegal immigrants.
· Voted yes on comprehensive immigration reform.
· Voted yes on allowing illegal aliens to participate in Social Security.
· Wants to make the minimum wage a "living wage".
· Voted with Democratic Party 96 percent of 251 votes.
· Is a big believer in the separation of church and state.
· Opposed to any efforts to Privatize Social Security and instead supports increasing the amount of tax paid.
· He voted No on repealing the Alternative Minimum Tax
· He voted No on repealing the "Death" Tax
· He wants to raise the Capital Gains Tax.
· Has repeatedly said the surge in Iraq has not succeeded.
· He is ranked as the most liberal Senator in the Senate today and that takes some doing.


If your political choices are consistent with Barack Obama's and you think that his positions will bring America together or make it a better place, then you will probably enjoy the ride and not forward this Email. If you are like most Americans that after examining what he stands for, are truly not in line with his record, it would be prudent to get off the wave or better yet, never get on, before it comes on shore and undermines the very foundations of this great Country. We have limited time to save America or the Supreme Court as we know it. Inaction is action.


If you agree this is important, pass it on. The mainstream media will not do it for you!

The Black or The Woman?

Ok- I haven't been following the Presidential Campaign. I mean, I know about the Michigan and Florida controversy. I know that Texas and Ohio were suppose to take her out- but Hilary is still kicking. I know that Bill Clinton made some racially charged allegations to disparage the electability and qualifications of Obama when it became evident that he was beginning to siphon off Clinton's base. I also know that there have been quips from Obama and his camp charged with the disqualifying and silencing aims of sexism. (Uhm- yuck.) Even Samantha Power had to step down from her unpaid position. (A problem from hell.)



I fully understand the nature of politics; particularly the rules of playing to win. And, I'm moved to stop listening when all I can hear is thinly veiled racism, which is interrupted by thinly veiled sexism. I youtubed all of the presidential debates (on both sides) early on in the race, but now I get most of what I know from water cooler talk and waiting at the dentist's office- or grabbing dinner at a bar with a tv. I'm not really following the race anymore, but I have some sense of what's going on.

I think Obama will take it. He's got young white kids all geeked up about him, and he's got some Republican cross-over appeal working. McCain or Obama? Never would have thought that would have been the basis of indecision for some white guy from rural Ohio, but it looks to be that way...

I think he just needed to establish his electability so that people didn't see him as a wasted Nader-styled vote; a political statement, rather than support of an electable candidate. And, now that he's Black again- ironically, I think that he'll take the race.

Below are some clips from the State of the Black Union back in February. Dick Gregory really got me to thinking. I wonder if this "First Black President" bullshit bestowed upon Bill Clinton, and this "He's not really Black" bullshit used to disqualify and separate Obama from Black communities is part of what made Clinton think that it was acceptable to launch racially charged attacks against Obama and think that there would be no backlash?



You know how when white people get real cool with you, and then suddenly think it's okay to say "nigger"? You know, they're on the ins now, so they can access in-group privilege. I really wonder what was behind that little flurry. Was it his long standing and respectable relationships with so many prominent people of color, and his being privy to one too many closed door conversations where he heard about Black people not trusting or even identifying with Obama that gave him justification, or maybe the authority in his mind? Or was it just his good old Arkansan white boy sensibilities showing up in play-to-win politics? Both/and?

Hell, I don't know. I did hear Clinton say that she would double funding to HBCU's though, and that she would create green-collar jobs and house training programs in "inner cities." Sorry Clinton, my Blackness still will not allow me to vote for you.

Double funding to HBCU's...
Chile please.

Shared Groceries

I pulled this from Bitch Ph.D. I thought it was kinda funny. And then I thought, "Why would you put it back?"

And then I thought, "Shouldn't you tell someone, especially if you're sharing groceries?"

And then I thought, "Have I ever lived with someone who would... Hmm..."

And then I thought, "May as well stick it on my blog and see what other folks think."

And then I thought, "People don't really post comments, they e-mail me or talk to me."

And then I thought, - you know? I'm tired of this. Here's the clip.

Maybe They Already Know?

[I like how the lesbian-looking one (the lesbian-looking one in the black shirt) is adamantly refusing to touch anyone!! "I'm so uncomfortable with you people that I will awkwardly clasp my hands together in front of my body, just so there's no mistaking that I do not intend to put my arms around your shoulders. Please hurry and take the picture, this is as close as you're going to get to a smile."]

I haven't officially told my boss that I'm quitting yet, but:

1. When he walked up on me buying plane tickets yesterday I didn't minimize the screen or even try to do that awkward shoulder block.



2. I've started bringing my camera to work, and having people all over the office take pictures with me.



3. Sporadically throughout the day I'm sure he hears, "CONGRATULATIONS!!!" followed, if not interrupted, by "SSSSHHHHHHHH!!!!!" Then, "oh, sorry."

So, maybe he already knows?

You Mean It's Not Just Freudian?

"Every baby born (whether male or female) inherits from its father genes that made the father look like he does and the genes that made the mother like how he looks."



It's pulled from a Richard Dawkins lecture discussing Darwinian theories of sexual selection asserting that sexual preferences themselves are governed by genetic selection. There is no aesthetic that works better or worse to promote sexual selection, female taste itself is under genetic control and subject to natural selection. Dawkins focused on this particular construction of female tastes and male characteristics, because the primates that he discusses have males with physiological sexual advertisements and females selecting their male mating partners on the basis of these characteristics, at least in part.


It makes me wonder about a lot of things, but right now I'm on my way to grab lunch with a much neglected friend. I hope I don't force "red sack preferences" anywhere into our conversation.


Also, what do pubes do? Filter debris like eyelashes and nose-hair? Regulate temperature? I know that's why the testes drop. But really, what are pubes good for? To cushion a blow? Just thinking developmentally, why do human beings grow hair on our genitals during puberty? Is it a signal of fertility?

And, what's up with armpit hair? It's already warm under there- is it to collect bacteria and keep it from being reabsorbed into our skin once we develop into armpit funk producers? Physiologically, what's the purpose of concentrated dense hair growth?


I like my eyebrows though.

Arrogance?

I used to get called arrogant a lot when I was a little kid. (Do you still read this Mom?) Mostly by my mom, and the degree to which it didn't bother me was the degree to which I believed her.

But, I had a conversation yesterday that led me to re-examine the whole concept of arrogance.

So, there is this woman who likes me. She's attractive, but not my type. She's pursuing an advanced degree in an interesting field, so I thought, "conversation partner!!!" (Ka-ching bitchez, Ka-ching!)

But, dig a little deeper, and she's pursuing a degree in a program that neither challenges nor stimulates her, precisely because it will be an easy degree to obtain.

She understands a Ph.D. as a fairly simple degree that doesn't actually involve new learning, but a willingness to jump through a series of administrative hoops. (I agree with the latter far more than the former, or maybe the former is related to the absence of "new learning" but a refinement and... fuck that! I really can't wrap my mind around an advanced degree in which a selling point is that you are not actually learning anything unless you work in the field, have worked in the field for many years, and just need the boost that a degree provides without the sacrifice of time. Then, maybe okay, but not when you are in your twenties and you plan to contribute scholarly work to the field.)

"People who want something more from an advanced degree just don't know how to use the library." [Slow nod of feigned agreement]

This conversation recast past conversations and frustrations with people in my life who have had advanced degrees from "real schools", but seemed incapable of critical thought. Not people who were hostile to me, or uninterested in engaging me; no, people who attempted to engage ideas with me but were always three, five, eight steps behind. It frustrates me. In fact, it frustrates the hell out of me. And, sometimes I get brash, but even if I don't make it all the way to acerbic, my speech gets clipped and sharpened, my posture becomes more aggressive, and I feel either antagonistic or like the other person is a waste of my time and efforts. I feel this way, because I'm convinced that they could be an active participant in the conversation if they would "just try."

The woman I spoke with is studying and researching the sociological implications of gender-identification, but herself has a very rigid binary construction of gender expression, which to me translates as "unexamined." Further, she told me her perceptions around how I do gender, I told her, "No, I identify as..." But, then she attempted to correct me and told me, "No, you're..."
"That's clothing. But I'm..."
"No, you're ...because..."


Right then and there I wanted to block her from ever being able to invade my day by inserting herself into my IM field of view. "Get the hell outta my inbox lady! You don't even know my last name!"


But, out of some morbid curiosity I decided to press on. I asked questions about what she saw, (during the two times we shared space), and what that signified to her. It was interesting that what she noted wasn't at all representative of me- at all. I mean, if you had to force, and I mean force me into a stereotype, but big ol chucks and significant hunks of me are unaccounted for and misrepresented in that pigeon hole.


So, I tried to problemitize gender constructs, and have a discussion about the limitations of a dichotomous worldview. No haps. She got lost. So, I tried to have a discussion about the process and journey of deconstructing how you choose to do gender to reconstruct what actually works for you; even if it looks very much the same you have an awareness of how particular components of gender serve you and how others don't, and at the very least why you do gender in the way that you do. She struggled with what to me felt like remedial concepts even as I kept lowering the bar of expectation.

And, then came the gem of the whole exchange:


"Sometimes I wonder if you have the capacity to accept those who are less complex."


BAM! That is precisely the issue at hand! And that's when I got it for the first time.


My response to her was "certainly, but not as someone that I would ever be romantically interested in, because I need someone who understands what I'm talking about when I talk about what's important to me." I've spread out my psycho-social-emotional needs so that I can stay in relationship with people who aren't able to strive and contend with me in places where it's important to me; I can just enjoy that they are lovable and notice that I love them.



But, being in relationships where I had expectations of people being able to meet my needs, to engage my thinking and play with concepts that were interesting and fun to me, and yet people just didn't (couldn't, cared about me, tried and couldn't), it left me frustrated because they were getting their needs met and I wasn't.


And, when I was a little kid that's what my mom labeled arrogance; expressions of my frustration from not being able to have people stay connected with me in places that were critical to me, and expressions of my resentment for what looked like their unwillingness to spend time with me the way I liked to spend time. I could play their games, but wouldn't/couldn't play mine.

I certainly know that I'm intelligent. I went to seminary for christ's sake! (that's kinda punny, right?) But, in my earnest assessment of my mental acumen I don't honestly believe that I'm smarter than most people. I don't. Not even multiple intelligences smarter- straight up ability to take an idea engage it, reflect upon it, and share what you've developed with someone else, then incorporate what they've said and start the whole process all over again (quickly please, quickly) smart.



And since everyone can think as clearly and crisply as I do, and in the same way that I do if they want to, I get a lot of room to place expectations upon people to meet me in the important spaces of my mind, and then resent them when they don't; particularly when I've already lowered my expectations to "make it easy."



So, I got called arrogant a lot when I was growing up. It was the fatigue and surliness that came of intellectual malnourishment. I still haven't figured out what I need to know about how to have reasonable expectations: a) of how to get my needs met, or 2) what is appropriate to expect of other people based on their unique makeup of thinking, feeling, and acting practices.


If I had figured that out, I never would have started this blog.


I know that more people read than comment, and that some folks have told me about reading posts out loud to loved ones, and even kids! But, I think that I started the blog because I needed a place that I could just put my thoughts down and at some level be my own conversation partner, and whatever I get on top of that is gravy.


It's really nice to re-engage the practice of thinking, and to do so in a context that doesn't expect me to stop because someone else can't keep up, or is overwhelmed, or simply bored.


If you're still reading, I love you mom!!

Breasts: 3 Essays on the Mystery and Utility of Women's Breasts

Okay- let's get this out in the open. I'm not a big fan of large breasts. I mean, if they're attached to a woman that I otherwise like, I am capable of accommodating, but she better have some really good other selling points to compensate me for having to take on her breasts in our relationship.

Certainly, I find breasts intriguing; they all look so different and there are all of the optional features like nipple shape/size/placement and areolas- what are they gonna look like? Do they sag, are they perky, do they have rivets from stretch marks? Are they tatted? Do they smell a little funky in the cleavage area? Are they bumpy, or gushy, or firm?

"Can I touch them? Oh- okay. So, what do you want for lunch, I'm in the mood for Thai."

Men with breasts are just as intriguing to me. (My barber likes to call them "Mitties".)

"Hmh? Can I touch them? Cool, thanks. Wanna go play pool?"

I'm intrigued and fascinated just like I am when someone has a big nose, or really defined calves, or really hairy arms, or people who are really tall. There's a sense of awe and wonder, but there's nothing sexual to it. (Maybe it's analogous to what white people feel when they want to touch Black people's hair?)

I say all of that to say that my fascination with breasts is probably because they're covered and you're not suppose to look at them, but they all look so different. What does that mean? It means that I've had some gaffes. A quick story about the most uncomfortable moment I've had with my breasts, and then 3 brief essays on my missteps with others'.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was a freshman in college living in the dorms. Every dorm has some older guy living there who's a bit developmentally delayed, and thinks that he'll be able to scam on the "fresh meat" since his age contemporaries aren't interested. Our dorm was no different.

So, we needed some beer, and it was my turn to talk to "Bones." Luckily, liquor stores around my college wouldn't sell to you unless everyone in your group could produce an ID, so that made for a great excuse for why I couldn't be bothered to ride with him to pick it up.

He called me when he got back to the dorm, and I went down to his room to grab our beer, or vodka, or tequila, or whatever the hell we were throwing up on that night. And, not wanting to be a total bitch, I sat down and chatted with Bones, evading all requests for him to join us.

"Oh- I don't even know what we're doing tonight. We may not even be drinking this tonight. Tasha doesn't feel well, so we don't even know. Hell, I have an exam on Monday, so I may just study tonight." (That kinda shit.)

So, after a few minutes he turns the conversation to sports and how much better it feels when his body is in good shape and toned. And then comes...

"It's like breasts, ya know? What good are breasts? All they are is fat, right? That's pretty gross. Nah, I don't like women with large fat breasts. Ew. I like a woman with a soccer player's body, with small breasts- like you."

WTF?!?!? Did he just put his hand on my thigh??!?!?!?

[Bolting upright] "Uhm- thanks Bones. (That was kinda gross) Well, I'm gonna head upstairs. Have a good night."

I must have told that story 15 times that night! For weeks afterward someone would pass me in the hallway and say something like, "Hey, I really like your tiny soccer tits."

"Well, thank you for noticing them."

"I'm quite proud of them myself." or

"You know, they're not all fatty like the big ones." were my standard responses.

1. Sorry. I Thought You Were My Partner

2. So, Uhm...Do You Work Here?

3. One Day at the Y.

C-YA Sooz!!

Can't get the song out of my head.

Mmmm, the sweet purr of a muffler driving off into the distant night.

Who cares about the lyrics, just get to the chorus and repeat!
(Hopefully, I'll be able to parallel park again!)

Do not go gentle into that good night, Susan. Just go!

Getthefuckoutbitch!

One of my favorite prayers

When I was in seminary, I realized that some of the music that I most connected with was markedly theological. Or, at least it resonated with my personal theology and gave witness to truths that were central, critical, and rarely proclaimed in a way that spoke to me, for me, through me.

Nina Simone is one of those folks. Surprisingly, Sade is too; Lover's Rock is like a prayer set to music. Erykah Badu, India Arie, me'shell ndegéocello, and of course the Billie Holiday, Sarah Vaughn, Ella Fitzgerald, Dinah Washington, some Otis Redding, Stevie Wonder, Al Green, Curtis Mayfield. I like the artists who can articulate the experience of surviving pain and seeming devastation, but not gloss over the experience of being in the moment of pain. But, do it with honesty, not sappiness or platitudes, or all consuming despair.

I like an artist who can communicate what sounds like it feels when I'm in pain; knowing all the while that I'm working through it, and frustrations will pass.

So, somewhere along those lines, I've been fucking around online, because I still haven't added the citations to my paper. But, I came across this Nina Simone Clip. Mmmmm.

Sometimes, she soothes my weary soul.

Okay, How Did That Get Connected??

So, I've got this new live in housekeeper. Didn't ask for her, don't want her, not paying her, would MUCH rather that she just got the fuck out- but there she shits; wallowing on the sofa.

Complicated.

She irks the fuck out of me. She's really needy. She wants to talk to me all the time. She's hyper-sensitive, and she brings chaos to a space that I looked to for serenity and sanctuary. It's like a puppy, because I'm met at the door every time I come home with jubilance. And, she has "accidents" because it feels like she is pissing on my shoes when that excitement is immediately followed by some mindless babble about something that she saw on TV, or how much she misses her old house, or one of her "cleaning victories" like finding rust on the bathroom shelving, so she disassembled it and threw it away, and then made space for my towels on the bookshelf in my room!!

"Uhm thanks," (unintentional, but dead-on impersonation of Eeyore.)

I wonder if this is why so many straight men go to the bar after work before coming home to their wives who've been cooped up in the house all day long.

"Can I just go take off my shoes? I'm not really listening to you anyway. I'm just waiting for you to pause and breathe so that I can say, 'alright' and head up the stairs. So, can you at least let me get in the door?"

Well, I have all of this pent up hostility toward her; mostly because she's that combination of really fucking annoying and really fucking sensitive that turns really fucking explosive when you try to engage it with any approximation of a rebuff. Well, that and when I say something to her I don't want to be so pissed that I'm unleashing years of frustration that has shit to do with why you took it upon yourself to clean my bathroom and throw away my toothbrush and move the toothpaste to the bottom drawer. Who the fuck puts toothpaste in the bottom drawer though? Honestly! Stop fucking touching my stuff! I HATE YOU FOR SLAVERY!!!!

So, looking for a space to engage her where I can tell her what's up without attacking her has been really hard. I tried today over something I thought was reasonable; please stop parking in the driveway. I don't like to park on the street, (and if necessary)- I pay to live here and you don't.

Twenty minutes and two conversations later with comments like, "Do you want me to just park in the yard? Cuz, I'll park in the yard!" or "Okay, then I'll gladly block you in, but don't think I'll get up in the morning to move my car when you go to work, cuz it won't be pretty." I realize that I have driven way past my destination, and I'm all the way on the other side of town. So, here's where it gets strange (stranger?) stranger than a 50 year old crazy ass white woman posted up on your couch, trying to be your friend and hiding your toothpaste? yes, stranger than that):

So, on the opposite side of town, I try to pull in to a spot on the street to parallel park, and I can't. I can't! I just can't do it. I'm backed all up on the sidewalk. I'm trying to straighten out my car, and I realize than I'm damn near perpendicular to the flow of traffic. I have no sense of the size of my car, or its relationship to the space, or where it really is in relation to the other cars or the sidewalk. I pull out and try again. No haps. I have occluded all memories of parallel parking skills.

And, not to brag- but to brag. I'm an awesome parallel parker.

"You can't fit in there."

-zip- -zip- -zip-

"Wow! With room to spare..."

I've prided myself on my parallel parking skillz. And, as I sit down I realize... my parallel parking skills have been atrophying since she moved in. What started as having to back out once and start over again last week, then became some really frustrating repeated curb bumping and wheel scraping two nights ago, has eroded into, "How the fuck did I get perpendicular?"

I don't even have the benefit of sex to regret in this scenario. (The thought of that just made me throw up in my mouth a little bit.) I'm completely blameless here, yet here I sit.

There's no witty ending to this. Sooze, you gotta get a job and get the fuck out- toot sweet.

Marshmallow?

(Uhm...best shot I could find?)

Really? Marshmallow? Not Marshmellow?

Marshmallow is the right way to spell that word, really?

I've always thought it was marshmellow. Marshmallow sounds kinda dumb, like you have a speech impediment and a Lichtensteinian accent, and you're 18months old and just learning to say longer words comfortably.

"May I have some marshmallows in my hot chocolate mom?"

"Only if you say 'marshmallow' again. You're so cute!!!!"

"Marshmallow."

"Awwwww.... Okay- now say umbrella."

Marshmellow sounds like whipped sugary goodness. Marshmallow sounds like a moon pie filling; kinda sketchy like the what are those hard pellets that occasionally were in Twinkies back in the 70's? Marshmallow, huh?

I wonder what else I've been wrong about with certainty for decades?

I'm still going to say "marshmellow" though, because "marshmallow" sounds dumb. And, "that's dumb" is the definitive end to any argument.

Oh- you disagree with me? Well, what you just said sounds dumb. (End of discussion.)

Good thing I wasn't on any debate teams when I was in school. I would have crushed them!

Marshmallow Angels

I just bought a new comforter, and I LOVE IT!!!!!

I love it with Oprah emphatic charisma, I LuuuVEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!

It must be all in my mind, but it feels like it makes my bed SO much more comfortable. I got one of those Beauty Rest Pillowtop mattresses that remind me of the "Calgon, take me away" commercials.

[We had Calgon in the house when I was a kid, and maybe I was too enthused by the commercials so I used too much, but I wasn't really a fan. It always just felt like taking a bath with sand scratching your ass and perfume burning your nose.]

Anyway, one of my best friends is moving tomorrow, and he's been staying at my place before he leaves. Well, last night he climbed into my bed and said, "Wow! This is really comfortable. It's like sitting on a cloud being fed marshmallows by angels."

What higher compliment can you give to someone as you climb into bed with them?

Nice tits?

Thanks Wanda Sykes!

I'm a big old fan of Wanda Sykes, even though from time to time she slips into cheesy sitcom style humor. She's inconsistent I guess, but when she hits her stride? Hilarious. Like her show, the sitcom about 6 years ago- very manufactured canned laughter unfunny. (Might be why it only lasted one season.) But, the episode that opens up with her being tired of waiting on Black leaders to get reparations and taking it upon herself to get her own, hilarious!

She knocks on someone's front door, and a white lady answers looking a little puzzled.

Wanda: "Yes, I'm here for my reparations. It looks like you owe me, [Looks down at piece of paper] $13.25."

So, I'm driving downtown earlier, and traffic is kinda tight. And, as I sit there watching ants crawl along the ground, some white guy in a business suit walks out of one of the buildings. For whatever reason, there's no traffic moving in the opposite direction, so as he steps off the curb to cross the street he can just casually stroll, which he does.

After he's crossed a couple of lanes, it's clear that he's walking towards my car. He doesn't want anything from me, just passing by my car to get to the other side of the street. And that's when it hits me.

I look out the window waiting for eye-contact. [Wait for it... Wait for it.] And, as soon as he looks at me from a couple of feet away, I cringe a little bit, and with slow deliberation -click- I lock my car doors!

I could barely wait for him to cross the street before I busted out laughing.

Thanks, Wanda!

My Phobia

Phobia: n. an uncontrollable, irrational, and persistent fear.




I'm sure that I have plenty of phobias, but only one that I can tell is irrational, but yet it persists.

This is a little embarrassing, but I'm deathly afraid of statues. Cold sweat, stop breathing afraid.


I looked on the web to see if there was a name for my phobia since there are catalogues of phobias that include Latin names for things as obscure as being afraid of left-handed people. Well, if you do a search yourself, you will see that the name for my phobia is "Statue Phobia", or the real transcendentalists label it "Fear of Statues." C'mon! I want something Latin too!

I was surprised to learn that it's a fairly common phobia, and for only $147 I can get some CD's and a workbook sent in the mail that will cure me of it.

One site had Staurophobia listed, but when I cross-referenced I discovered that it's a fear of crucifixes. Uhm, don't have that problem, right Buddy Jesus?


So, statues:
It happened when I was a really little kid, posted up on the couch with my Orville Redenbacher "Natural Flavor" bag of popcorn watching Clash of the Titans.

As you can see from the trailer, its cutting edge state of the art special effects are fluid and realistic enough to stay with most people for 30 years or more. But, way back in 1st or 2nd grade, back when I used to love Greek mythology, back when I could spend the whole day drawing pictures and not feel like I had "wasted" my time, back when I had to be home before the street lights came on, I think I had some blurring along the periphery of the boundaries of what is fantasy and what is reality. (I think most of us still do, actually. I think as adults we believe that less than we want is possible in life, and as kids we think anything could be possible. At any rate,) A compelling movie has always fully captivated my little brains.



So, there: Sofa, popcorn, and a 2-foot version of me, totally engrossed.

I haven't seen the movie since, but to the best of my recollection, there is a scene where someone is talking to a statue who suddenly opens its eyes. Now, in that moment, there's the loud and unnerving sound effect of an orchestra, or something, hitting a minor chord; which is intended to startle and unnerve you, just to punctuate the startle reflex and milk you for all of the terror your imagination and your physiology can be combined to produce.


(As an aside: I wonder if it was actually Medusa getting her head cut off and then opening her eyes? I thought it would be cool to put up a picture of Medusa to open this post, but when I looked for images of Medusa I was so uncomfortable looking at them that I couldn't even click on a thumbnail to see if I liked the image. And, it left me unnerved enough that I wanted something up there that couldn't possibly have any negative associations. Strawberries! Wait- strawberries dipped in chocolate and then painted to look like tuxedos. Oh that's so cute!"


When I watched the trailer just now I saw that Medusa is a cgi that looks kinda like a statue, and has staccatic movements, kinda like the statues that move in the movie, and the monsters, and anything else the special effects department has rigged up.)


So, if you're still reading, my phobia actually is not of statues, there are statues all over town that I think are kinda cool. It's easier to use statues as a shorthand, but my phobia is actually far more specific. I am afraid of Greco-Roman styled, slightly larger than life sized, statues of a woman opening its eyes, and then killing me. Now, I know that there's no name for that one!


There's something in the moment of suddenly realizing that you haven't been alone, and moreover, you've been vulnerable without realizing it in the presence of someone who wishes you harm.

It's odd, but writing it out like that makes me realize that it overlaps a lot with where racism makes white people look terrifying to me. ...huh!

In any case, it's the eyes. It's in the eyes.

So, I went to a lecture a few weeks ago and I had to use the bathroom. Walking down the long corridor I noticed that there were some busts on mantles near the entrance to the bathroom. I didn't feel all that intrigued as I went in, but on the way out I decided to go take a look at them.

I came out of the bathroom, and there in front of me was a bust of someone's head carved in white stone, but someone had colored in the eyes red. RED! Well, could have been black, or brown, but my shocked little ass saw red.

"Nnyyaaa!" is what I said reflexively. Shoulders tightened up, every muscle in my body seized, and shivering, I closed my eyes and turned around to walk down the corridor back to the lecture.

And that's when I realized... I hadn't been alone in the corridor. Standing by himself, about 4 feet away from me was some man who was looking down at his Blackberry.

"Shit! Okay, just act natural. Don't make eye-contact, and walk down the hall as though nothing has happened. Maybe he'll think I have Tourettes."


"Maybe he thinks I have Tourettes!?!" Christ Jesus Alive! I comforted myself with the hope that someone thought I had Tourettes, not "Maybe he didn't hear me," or "Maybe he thought I was playing around," or "maybe I just looked really scared to him, and he was completely non-judgemental." Nope, let's swing for the fences with Tourettes.

You know, even I realize that the shit that goes through my head is both amusing and absurd sometimes. It's so kooky inside my brain sometimes that all I can do is watch and laugh.