No Homo

I'm a little bit too old, and a little bit too female, and a little bit too homosexual, and a little bit too "something other than urban" for this to be meaningful to me. But, I'm kinda taken with the phrase, right? So, if you're a young strapping man and you want to say something that could be perceived as homo, but you don't want your friends to call you a homo, you say "no homo". OK.

I think it's big on high school football teams too. So, lots of aggressive testosterone space when men/boys smack each other on the ass, and do all of the homoerotic things that men and boys do. No homo. OK.

Now, there's space for "no homo" right after , "Suck my dick!" You can say "no homo" after you tell a friend that his mouth is really sexy. But, I think that most of it is to avoid being accused of being a homo in spaces that are not homo-accepting.

Now the merits and challenges, or homophobia implicit in "no homo" could fill a book. You would have to talk about the song that purportedly gave rise to the phrase, and the reason it's become so salient in the cultures of young men. Someone can do that.






Thinking about it makes me want to get a T-shirt that says, "Real men love Jesus! (no homo)"

Stuff People Like

Wow! That got all garbled up. Too bad I'm not invested enough to clean it up right now...



Here is a list of the "Stuff" people like blogsstuff that white people likestuffblackpeoplelikestuff black people lovestuff educated black people like - I think I could of wrote a few about stuff black people like as I've been writing the black people quiz's. stuffghettopeoplelike -I fixed the link!stuffrealblackpeoplelikestuff white parents likestuff Asian people likestuff that bothers usstuff that lesbians likestuff desi/Indian/brown people likestuff stick figure people likestuff ethnic people like stuff educated latinos likestuffjewishyoungadultslikestuffstraightpeoplelikestuffquerpeoplelikestuffIranianpeoplelikestuff black greeks likestuff black people hatestuffwhitepeopledo-the material here is not all tongue&check but its still cool.

You Rejected Me Twice?!?!?

Twice?? Really, twice?

So, I applied to some schools awhile back. My top choice was not the top ranked program of my options, but it was my top choice. They were the first to reject me, while other "better" programs enthusiastically accepted me, and put their money where their mouths are(?). Anyway, so I'm all geeked up about moving and going to school, and looking for housing, and making new friends, and new professors, and blah, blah, blah.

I've moved on. I accepted their rejection. I've come to terms with it, and I agree that it's for the best. Or at least I thought I did! Today I get home and there in my mailbox is a letter from my top choice for a program.

"What could they be writing me? An apology! They reviewed my application and realized that they had mistakenly sent me a rejection letter. Yes! They wondered why they hadn't heard from me about my acceptance before the deadline, and they've just now realized their mistake! YES! Ibetthat'swhatitis!! I bet!!"

So, I sat there for a second- at my mailbox, deciding whether I would "take them back." Would I give up all that I was excited about with the program I'd already committed to, for sloppy-seconds treatment if the excuse was reasonable (believable) enough? I stood there for a second thinking about it. And, I realized that the answer was "no". I actually prefer the program I've accepted over what used to be my top choice. But, let me see what they're offering. Maybe I'll call just to tell them that I actually got into a better program, but thanks anyway.
Let's see what they're trying to sell me:

"Thank you for your interest in our program. We receive many applications from qualified..."

WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!? You just wrote to reject me again!?! AGAIN?!?!? What the hell fuck kinda shit is this?? AGAIN??

It felt like someone I loved had broken up with me, even though I put everything I had into the relationship. And just as I moved on, and had become happy, they called. After several months all of these old emotions came flooding back, and I was making considerations that seemed altogether unfathomable just moments ago.

"You want me back? You're calling to apologize? You realize that you made a mistake?" [dreamy expectations]


Me: "Hello?" [confused and bewildered]

Bitchez: "Hey, yeah... remember when I broke up with you a couple of months ago?"

Me: "Yeah!" [trying to sound all cool and nonchalant and shit- but wreaking of excited desperation]

Bitchez: "Yeah, well I've been thinking it over..."

Me: -gasp-

Bitchez: "and I wanted to let you know that I think I made the right choice. Take care."

-blink-

Uhm- what the hell fuck kinda shit is that!?!? I just got rejected TWICE!!

Damn, I feel played.

Kids Should Eat Whatever They Want For Dinner!

What-evah!!!

You want ice cream? Ok.
Mashed potatoes and jelly beans? Sure.
Gravy? Just a cup of gravy? If that's what you want.

Why should kids eat whatever they want? Well so that they can get these strange craving out of their systems and develop an appetite for healthy meals.

What did I eat for dinner tonight? Cheerios! With dried raspberries, blueberries, and strawberries!!! MMMmmmmm-mHm!

Here's how my internal dialogue went:
"Damn! I want some jelly beans!! I can't eat jelly-beans for dinner....cookies? Ooohh...cookies... cookies are...CHEERIOS!!!!!!!!"

So, I ate flavored sugar for dinner tonight. You wanna know who I blame? My mom. (She's gotta have broad shoulders or the ability to let my bullshit just roll off and keep it moving.) All those years of, "Eat your vegetables." Or, "no dessert until after you eat your dinner."

Now, mind you, I don't have any children, but I know that these tactics are pretty-much bullshit. They create unnatural cravings, and irrationally intense desires. When we are young children with super-charged metabolisms, we need pure sugar. That's why we crave it. And if we are allowed to satiate those natural desires we will develop age-appropriate developmental cravings/appetites as we age. When I was a baby I needed a pacifier; really a fake nipple, but I felt uncomfortable framing it that way. Since I got a pacifier when it was developmentally appropriate, I was able to move forward. If I hadn't you may have seen me suck my thumb later in life. Today, adults that you see with pacifiers are telling you one of two things:

1. I'm developmentally delayed because my stage-appropriate desires were neglected at critical points during my development.
2. I'm on X.
3. 1 and 2 need not be mutually exclusive

So, why did I just eat sugar bomb cereal for dinner? Uhm cuz my parents were incompetent and made me eat protein/carbs/vegetables every night for dinner.

(Please don't think any less of them. They did the best that they knew how to do.)

UPDATE:

I just got out the shower and remembered that I ate a TON of candy as a little kid. It was not uncommon for me to have a soda next to my bed. Or worse, to be sitting in bed eating candy right before I fell asleep. (Did you know that if you go to sleep with a jolly rancher in your mouth it will not melt overnight? Pretty fucking cool, huh?) Yeah- and in 3rd grade I couldn't figure out why I wasn't waking up with raspberry jolly rancher breath. (Raspberry is the BEST JR flavor!)

So, I just wanted to take a moment to update and revise my blog.

Please do not allow your children to eat copious amounts of sugar. Monitor and regulate the sweets, and if at all possible, don't let them eat candy. It creates an unnaturally intense craving for sugar that they will not be able to shake even well into their adult lives. If you can learn anything from me, please! Keep monitor what your children eat, and keep them on a well-balanced and nutritious diet.

I just ate sugar bomb cereal for dinner. Why? Because my parents did not monitor my eating habits as a child and I would sneak candy into my bedroom.

(Please don't think any less of them. They did the best they could.)

Are all Black Lesbians Smart?

Uhm- cuz this one is!!

I was chatting with someone earlier today about my thinking and experience being invited to facilitate other people's thinking about oppression. Oddly, it looks like the space where I have devoted the least amount of formal training/thinking is where I have the most impressive resume to go out and facilitate other people's thinking about oppression and liberation.

Heterosexism/Homophobia

Now, it may be that Queer Theory, much like Womanist Theology, is intersectional in its analytical lens. Right? Since queer folks are a portion of every human community, what is liberative to queer people must necessarily take on a complex analysis of oppressive systems and the interplay of racism, classism, sexism, xenophobia, men's oppression, ageism, (I'm feeling pressure to name every kind of oppression I can think of- either because my internal analytical lens is multidimensional and I want tic off all of the things I think about- but the more likely story is that I feel pressure to prove that I understand different oppressions, and that proof will come in the form of being able to name them. retarded!)

So, it may be that my formal training in these other area is a component of my training in queer spaces, because to do it well I must call upon those resources. Could be.

Also, I wonder if it has something to do with this being the only space in my life where the implicit assumption is that I'm intelligent. Black? Nah. Woman- uh, nope. Did you know that she's a black lesbian? Well, damn! Why didn't someone tell me!?! Call her over here and ask her what her political analysis is.

I'm a black lesbian, so people are ALWAYS asking me what my political analysis is, what that speaks to movement building, and how that translates into a possible action plan. What are the hidden systems at play influencing the situation, people's perceptions, and who benefits? I didn't get asked these questions as a black person. (I get told from time to time; particularly by older black men who think that they are schooling me on some shit!) I certainly don't get expected to know this as a woman. (Hell, women are even expected to know that these conversations occur, much less understand their content!) But, as a Black Lesbian, people assume that I know my shit!

I don't know what that is, I just know that it is. So, perhaps all of my queer liberation experience (particularly as I have not sought it, have not marketed myself, but have been invited (sometimes with lots of pleading) to take on roles to facilitate and inform other people's thinking) is a function of that being the space which is least hostile, most inviting of the complexities that constitute my identity.

I don't know? Who the fuck knows? All I know is that I just led a workshop and it was great.

Also, some sour-grapes lesbian tried to sabotage my several times, and in some creative ways. She called all of the panelists last minute, and told them it was rescheduled. She called some guitar-playing poet that she'd never met, and asked her to show up and perform. This woman even had the nerve to show up (late of course) just to see how fucked up everything would be when all of the things she assured me were taken care of were not, and that she'd thrown in some strange last-minute snares. (Uhm- trick please!) I've been doing this far too long to be tripped up by your silly games.

Actually, she's helped me to realize that the answer to my question is, "uhmerah... nope."

Tight Work!

Oprah and the Occult!!

This video makes me wonder who the political strategist is behind this campaign, because they are brilliant. The first thought I had when I started watching this was that Oprah may actually have more to contribute to the cause of liberation than I give her credit for. These first few statements are lifted right out of the womanist theologian's handbook for understanding (claiming?) Christianity as a liberative force in the lives of Black women. Central to that process is throwing off this notion that suffering is either salvific or redemptive; leading Black women to embrace their suffering rather than throw it off and strive against it in our quest for liberation. Who taught Black folks that long-suffering was how to understand and appropriate Christianity's message? Uhm- white folks who owned enslaved Africans, and needed them not to fight against the atrocities that were being unleashed on them.

So, womanism reframes the crucifixion as a story of triumph which demonstrates that we need not be weary in well-doing (pursuing justice), because even the worst of what you will face is not, cannot lead to your demise. Even conspired attempts to annihilate you will not be the end of you. Certainly you will suffer, and it will promise to be agonizing, and people you look to and depend on will abandon you when you most need them; not because you are flawed, but because that's how oppressive systems respond when you seek change.

So, this whole reframe of the Christian story, which asserts that there is no salvation in the crucifixion, but rather that salvation occurs in the resurrection, the basis for hope and a refusal to give up even in the face of death. That's a christianity that is liberative to Black women, and isn't complicit with our oppression; teaching us to embrace our suffering, that God would have it this way, and that enduring abuse is the pathway to righteousness.

(So- christian reframe in 2.5 paragraphs- not bad for blog contextualization)

I know that Oprah didn't create this new and expanded perspective of religion, which admittedly overshoots womanism, overshoots christianity, and lands in new agey. But, it was interesting for me to notice some central womanist pillars highlighted at the beginning, and to recognize that of course Oprah would be drawn to spiritual teachings that possess meaningful and liberative pedagogies which speak directly to the liberation of Black women and our experience. Oprah is a Black woman, even if her target market and primary consumers are not. Gohead Oprah witcho womanist-influenced spirituality and arguing with white women about Jesus. Gohead Oprah!

Now my second thought:

Whoever put this together did so in a way to highlight how un-Christian and heretical Oprah's thinking/teaching(?) is, so therefore be very afraid. Now, if this were a message about Christianity and orthodox beliefs structures/acceptable belief structures it would have ended with a rehearsal of what correct belief is, and where in the Bible support for those beliefs can be found. But, it doesn't. It says that Oprah is heretical, and she supports Obama.

So, what are "real" Christians to do? Turn off your TV.

It's always interesting to me the ways that Christians get pimped into shutting off access to any outside information and to rehearse what they know among other folks who have been similarly insulated. There's something incredibly frightening about having a single space in which to work out your morality/spirituality/political understanding, particularly if that space has information regulated and controlled by a single person who tells you what/how to believe. It's scary because people are far more easily subjected to manipulation and control without even realizing it.

Not even so much as a recommendation to go to church. This was a political ad that sought to scare Christians, associate that terror with Obama, and rally them to show up at the voting boots in opposition to the heretical party.

I like that it's stealth both in its packaging and in its distribution. It's not in mainstream mediums to get dissected and exposed. It's a YouTube video, perhaps created by a true believer, disseminated to other true believers for their consumption and portability. (They can just e-mail it to friends.)

But, it is really masterful in its ability to create unrest, crank that up to terror, and then associate that terror with Obama. This is a really well done political attack ad wrapped up in sheep's clothing of evangelism and a call to return to true Christianity.

I'm also realizing that there is no offering of what "appropriate" Christian belief or opinion is on any of these political issues- or even religious issues for that matter. Because there is so much variation and difference of opinion, by leaving those issues to inference, each "true believer" is able to insert their own dogma as orthodoxy.

I like this video (meaning I think that it is well executed) because it will provoke people with wildly varying and even conflictory belief systems to go to the polls with a single purpose; voting against a particular candidate.

I think some of the Republican strategists are smarmy as hell, but those fuckers are smart!

Blogette VII

Matilda's back. I gave her her chair... [sigh]

(But I kept her back support pillow!!!!)

Now, if she wants it back that's cool, I'm willing to give it to her. But, she's gonna have to ask me for it.

And, then she's gonna have to get past me pretending like I don't understand what she's talking about.

And, if she persists she's gonna have to negotiate me interrupting her to give her work to do. "Yeah, sure we can talk about that in a second. Uhm, for now I need to you disassemble this binder and make copies in triplicate, 1 should be 2-sided and 2 should be 1-sided, on green, yellow and white paper. I need you to collate and bind the copies and put everything in my box before 4:40 today."

If she's willing to endure that kinda shit, that's fine. I'm willing to give it back, she just has to show me that she wants it.

(I think she brought this from home!!)

She's been back for awhile, and she hasn't mentioned it. I don't know... Don't start no shit, wont be no shit?

I think I needed more hugs as a kid.

I'm Kinda Cute in the Face

It's true. We're all adults here. We can deal with this. I'm kinda sexy.

How do I know? People tell me. Now, that in and of itself is not remarkable. It makes me giddy, but it's not remarkable. What is remarkable about my face cuteness? People screaming it from passing cars. Uhm- that's noteworthy, and thrilling enough for me to shoot my mom a text!

So, sitting at a red light the woman in the next car over asks me for directions. I tell her, and as the light changes for them to turn, they don't turn. The driver looks over at me, and the woman leaning out the window pauses and says, "If no one's told you today, you are sexy as hell!" And before I could even respond to thank her, they pull off and move on into their day.

First step: Roll down all windows in the car, to make room for the imminent head swelling.

I was on a cloud for the rest of the day. And, I wondered why. She wasn't the only person who'd told me that they found me attractive. In fact, she wasn't the only person that day. Unlike other folks who say something crass/complimentary from another car, she actually figured out how to engage me before she told me.

But, what really got me was that she told me she thought I was attractive and didn't need anything back from me. Most people who tell me that they think I'm attractive want something from me. Maybe for me to think that they are attractive too? Maybe for me to talk with them, or to want to spend time with them, or for me to drop my guard so that they can evaluate whether I'm worth getting to know. So, ironically, someone telling me that they think I'm attractive throws my guard up.

"What do they want from me?"

Even when they don't say it with their words, but in how they interact with me, I'm thrown into wondering what this person wants from me. It can't be just that they find themselves attracted to me, how I look, how I think- I'm kinda fun to be around. But, as soon as it looks like someone thinks I'm physically attractive I start scrutinizing them and I get really defensive.

There are women who work with me who have offices of their own, no overlapping job functions, really no reason to talk with me, yet they hang around my cubicle for 20-30 minute chunks of time and I can see them trying to pull out more reasons to stretch out the conversation in that awkward and embarrassing way that 7th grade girls do. The guys just pal around with me and goof off with jokes and things, but women will stammer and pause, and then throw out something that's a new potential topic for conversation.

What's that about?

Probably my inability to trust people and being hyper-vigilant about trying to constantly discern what people want from me, so that I can decide if I'm willing to give it or not. Probably that.

My Grandma?

So, I'm hanging out in a coffee shop sitting next to this strange guy who keeps leaning over to tell me the name of songs that are playing. White guy- wearing a soccer jersey, wool socks and grey trail running shoes. Odd.

So, a few minutes ago he leaned over all excited and asked if i had ever seen something as he handed me his laptop. it was some green eco-environment that was for sale down in Florida. Why would a total stranger hand me his laptop to show me a newly listed "eco-environment"? (Good question.) Well, apparently they do that if they were looking for space to give their seminars on sustainable development and green business planning, and (will you look at that!!!) the space is up for sale! apparently that's how you broach a conversation with someone at a coffee shop. have you seen this (hand them your laptop) it's a a space I was looking at in sunny-Florida for my business, and it's up for sale.

Ok- maybe he's just excitable.

"No, I haven't seen that. Thanks though."

A few minutes later he asks me something, and I don't even remember what because it was an excuse for him to school me on the wayward thinking behind property taxes and personal income taxes. I didn't respond. Then, he went into this tirade about how local government is exploiting poor black people, and the abuses of utility companies and how they hit black people who typically have more than 4 people living in their homes ("you know, cousin Tyrone and everyone is always coming through and living with them on the poor side of town."), rather than wealthier white families who typically have 4 or fewer people living in them.

"Huh. Really?"

So, then he lays in about property taxes and the benefits of a graduated consumption-based tax. Now, at this point I started to inject my thinking, since I have some opinions here, and he stopped talking, but he didn't listen, because he just picked up where he left off. And, he explains how government is taking advantage of poor black people, and something needs to be done about it. He tells me about economic policies that would leave "our grandmothers" out on the street. And, after I don't respond he says, "well, not my grandmother"; I raise an eyebrow, and he says, "well, maybe not your grandmother either."

He goes on for a bit, trying to figure out my class background and what buttons to push to get me engaged and talking with him. Legalizing drugs? Prison industrial complex? Poverty? Public housing? Old people? Everyone loves old people!!

At the end of this failed attempt to engage me, he pauses for a second and says, "It's ok, I'm a Republican too." WHAT?!?!?!?!?

In the last few minutes he's tried to tell me about his trip to Iceland, and offered six or seven times to show me the pictures on his laptop. He's told me about all the times he's been interviewed by local media and the proposals he's submitted to city council. He's told me about his investment portfolio. He's told me how many languages he speaks and how many businesses he owns. He's told me that he's met with foreign heads of state, and other dignitaries.

Initially, I just thought he was a socially awkward extrovert, but now that I write it out, it looks like he may be trying (albeit very awkwardly) to flirt with me. It's that male posturing, "look how impressive I am" stuff. It's strange, because it just feels so absurd on this side of the whole exchange; I may have said four sentences throughout the entire time I've been here.

And, after things died down a bit, and I didn't even look at him to grunt out "Mm-hm", he started leaning over to tell me the name of every song as it started to play. An attempt to connect? Certainly. Flirtation? Maybe that's why he's at a coffee shop on a Friday evening handing out his laptop. He needs to step up his game.

Now, he's moved onto loudly talking to himself with exasperated sighs of frustration. "I hate when you hit the tab button and it sends out your e-mail!"

Maybe I should buy him a copy of "The Game"?

What's That Smell?

Ok- I seem to be in a potty-humor low-brow mode, so why mess with the streak?



So, there I am waiting on the elevator on my way to a function, and I'm running late. Doors open, I walk in, and "what's that smell? OMG! What is that god-awful smell?" I can't believe someone left this putrid funk in the elevator. And, just as I'm setting up in my mind that this must be the worst possible elevator scenario- trapped in a funk-filled elevator when -ding- the elevator stops, and someone I know walks in. Shit!!

What do you do? What do you do? I know this person casually; certainly not a relationship with the strength to support "I didn't do that, but it stinks like hell, huh?". So, what did I do? I engaged him in casual conversation as though I hadn't noticed the nose-burning eye-watering funk, and he returned the favor.

[sigh]

Blogette VI

Things I'll do to avoid writing a paper:

"You know, this old sweatshirt sure has a lot of little lintballs all over it. Maybe it would look better if I picked them all off?"

What's worse than that?

Noticing how absurd it is and stopping only to write a blog post about it.

[sigh]

It's really bad around the wrist. Maybe I'll just clean those up and finish up my assignment...

Plagiarism, Stealing, Lifting, Sampling

Call it what you like.

I saw this on someone's blog. (I'm at a coffeehouse working on some "research". Huh. Maybe that should be "working"?) And, I thought I would link it in my blog. It was the exact feeling I had when I was in 5th grade sitting at the library with the World Book Encyclopedia open in front of me, "Huh. I couldn't have said it better myself."

Lies I've told my 3 year old recently

Trees talk to each other at night.

All fish are named either Lorna or Jack.

Before your eyeballs fall out from watching too much TV, they get very loose.

Tiny bears live in drain pipes.

If you are very very quiet you can hear the clouds rub against the sky.

The moon and the sun had a fight a long time ago.

Everyone knows at least one secret language.

When nobody is looking, I can fly.

We are all held together by invisible threads.

Books get lonely too.

Sadness can be eaten.

I will always be there.

posted at 11:47 PM by raul
TAGS: fatherhood, kids, lies
Filed under: fatherhood

Laaawwwd Hammercy Jesus!

This video is what first made me figure out how to spell out "lawd hammercy" a few years back! This kid cracks me up! I can't find a better copy, but the faces of the choir members, especially the kid sitting right behind him. The one just to his left goes down because he's doubling over with laughter, and the choir director (visible for just a split second on the left side of your screen) is cracking up!!

The pastor, or whoever, had to break in and snatch the mic out of his hand.

The whole scene is hilarious.

Word of the Day

Cattywampus:
adj. word used by older white Southerners to mean something's all jumbled up.

All Jumbled Up:
colloquial euphemism: phrase used by Black people as a substitute for "all fucked up". Typically this substitution will take place in more formal speech, mixed-race spaces, or when it otherwise is not clear that "fucked up" wouldn't be misconstrued as communicating an emphatic anger which has not been posited by the speaker. There are no regional restrictions on it's use. See also "messed up".

Ok, I'm not 100% on either of the definitions above. I just woke up this morning and my mind was blank except for the word "cattywampus". Cattywampus??!?!?!?!?! Who the fuck says "cattywampus"? So, the first 10 waking moments of my morning were trying to figure out where I would have picked up this gem of a word that I would never say; at least not if I'd been exercising good judgement and using forethought.

I believe that a professor used the word in class once last year. And... that's about it. I have no relationship to this word in my life. And yet, there it was- all laid back and reclining all over my brain this morning.

I remember taking a psychology class back in high school and learning about the competing theories that try to explain why we dream. One of the theories was that we take in so much information during our waking hours that our brains simply cannot process all of it; particularly if they are strapped with the tasks of helping us to navigate all of the requirements of our waking hours. So, sleep is like a defrag where your brain cleans out all of these half-started, incomplete, free-floating and unrelated to anything thoughts. The residue of this process is what we experience as dreams. Certainly there is more to the argument and explanation, but for purposes of blog-contextualization this will suffice.

So, maybe that's where cattywampus came from. I've certainly never said the word myself. But, here's where that leads me today- in my waking/conscious moments:

If I'm so backlogged that after a few weeks of getting by on brain-power cruise control, my brain is just now getting to an intriguing word that someone said in passing on their way to a larger point that I ultimately agreed with from Fall 2007, Laaawwwd Hammercy Jesus! I must be really intellectually constipated. Like, "Ok ma'am. It looks like we need to set you up for the premium package, which consists of an emergency enema and a series of 9 colonics. Okay? And then we'll see how things look next week."

Pimp Juice

I was thinking about my life last week, and all the opportunities that it looks like I have access to in this moment, and it looks like (looks like) someone has just rubbed pimp juice into the ether of my life. That intangible, immeasurable, ephemeral, essence of what constitutes hope. Howard Thurman called it "the aliveness of life". To quote Nelly, "It could be money, fame, or straight intellect."

I'm still exhausted as fuck, and my body/brain still hasn't fully recovered from my travels; particularly since I haven't really had a chance to rest yet- I just came back to neglected work, pressing deadlines, and expectations that have been ratcheted up. But, as I sit there at my desk behind mounds of projects Opportunity keeps presenting herself to me. She's like a little kid playing dress-up who keeps coming back in different outfits, but I recognize that it's still her.

"POTUS!?!?!? How did you get my number?!?!?! Nevermind, I know..."

Damn, Opportunity! Wait til I get my shit together; chile, I'ma be all over you!

Better yet, if you keep sniffing round here now, and I ain't even got my A-game together? Howbout I just get at you right now.

Sadly, It Sounds So Reasonable

I have fallen asleep trying to read an article in a coffee shop, on the other side of town, surrounded by people I don't know, with the smell of espresso on my breath!

I have fallen asleep at the 24-hour library that I forced myself to drive to, because "investing in the time to drive to campus, and set up my computer, and lay out all of my research will force me to stay awake; especially if I'm surrounded by a lot of other people who are up working at 2am."

Drive + set up? 40 minutes.
Time spent working before I started to nod? 20 minutes

What does that mean? It means that after I've gone to great lengths to stay awake and get some work done, my body just hits a point where it vetoes all of my brain's efforts. "Yeah, that's cute. You keep at it. Meanwhile, the rest of us are going to sleep. You do whatever you want."

So, here's the process:

"Man! This chair is really uncomfortable. -ugh- my back hurts!" (10 minutes pass)

"[sigh] My ass feels numb, this chair is so hard, damn!" (change position. 5 minutes pass)

"Damn! My knees really hurt. I gotta take some glucosamine." (2 minutes pass)

"Damn, my neck! I wonder if there are any videos of bear cubs fighting wildebeests over donuts?" (2 minutes pass)

"Oh! Has anyone e-mailed me since 1:45am?" (check e-mail, and feel legitimately disappointed)

"Hhhhh... okay, have I read this already? Shit! I've underlined this and made notes in the margin! Have I been re-reading this whole time?!? Fuck!" (1.5 minutes pass)

"This is the most uncomfortable chair I've ever sat in in my life. How do people get anything done in these crappy chairs? It would be so much easier to get through this material if I weren't constantly distracted by how uncomfortable I am the whole time!" (and so it begins)

"Really, what I need to do is get somewhere where my body will be comfortable, I can relax, and not be distracted. THEN I'll be really productive."

Typically, I wake up the next morning in a recliner with an article in my lap, and the light on. Really? Really? Leaving the light on was suppose to make a difference? Really?

Sometimes, all I can do is laugh.


Oh! And here is what my waking hours look like:

I LOVE KEV!!!!

I love Kev so much that I'm going to learn how to make friendship bracelets and give him one. (Anyone know some middle-school kids who can teach me how to do this?)


I have a friend. His name is Kevin. I call him Kev, because I don't like to say big words.


I absolutely love Kev. Now, mind you, Kev is an asshole. He was an asshole long before I met him, and I suspect that he will be an asshole all the way through his dying breath. Perhaps a more generous way to say that is that Kev is direct and honest- he doesn't mince words and you always know what he means. I love Kev. In fact, I adore him.


I want to marry him and have his babies!! (And then ask him, what were we thinking. You know I'm a lesbian, right?) And then maybe stay married, you know, for the kids. And by "kids" I mean tax-incentives.


So, I've had a pretty impressive week. A mind-numbingly shocking week. A "whose life is this again?!?!?!" week. And, I sent out the latest, "look at this crazy opportunity that google-mapped its way to my door!" e-mail to a couple of folks. (Sometimes, not all the time certainly, but sometimes opportunities in life will hunt you down. (like that crazy guy in Prison Break...freak.))

So, I sent out my shocked/astonished e-mail and Kev says to me, "Get over yourself and gloat bitch."

Plus he's super fucking smart! It's like a cool breeze on a hot summer day to have a smart friend hang out with me in the depths of assholeishness. (Maybe "bowels" is a better word-choice there?) We laugh until we cry! And nobody ever thinks, "Damn! You're a fucked up person." Mostly we just think, "Damn! I can't believe you fucking said that! That shit is hilarious!" "OMG, you really just said that—out loud!"

All of my super-tight friends growing up were assholes- or at least I wish they were. Now, don't go feeling bad about yourself if you're not an asshole like me and Kev. I can still love you, and we can hang out, and watch PG-13 movies, and play scrabble or whatever. [Good times] But the bestest? My favoritist? Super-tight? Assholes. I love 'em.

So, Kev. Man! I love you! What are you you doing this weekend? Wanna make some babies and then watch Logo?

I Don't Want to Start Any Blasphemous Rumours

but i think that god's got a sick sense of humor, and when I die I expect to find him laughing."

-- Depeche Mode (circa- when I was in middle school)

I swear to God I'm gonna stop brushing my teeth at work. I swear to God!!!

So, there I am in the bathroom-

Flossing. (everyone knows that when you are flossing you are at the beginning of your toothbrushing regimen. Floss all the hard to get bits out, and loosen up the plaque under your gums. 2.) Brush it Away. 3.) Scrape all debris, plaque, and bacteria off your tongue. 4.) Rinse with mouthwash. That's what everyone does, right? Yeah, I know...) So, there I am flossing..

When in walks some woman from another department on our floor. I don't know her name, so no need to give her a fake one here. So, she says hello, and makes some small talk, lays down her papers and walks past me to use the bathroom. Of course she pulls down some paper seat covers, but I'm not phased by that anymore, all the women on my floor like to sit on the seat rather than hoover slightly- so, no big deal.



But then there's the silence. Long silence. And wait a minute… is that the smell of shit? You know what? I'm in a bathroom- I'm grossed out by germs. I',m probably making this up in my mind. I'm such a hypochondriac. So, I keep brushing away. What was that sound? Plop? Was that a fucking plop?!?!? Are you plopping in there lady? Goddamn!! Then a flush- and then more of the plopping, and yes that was the smell of shit.



Okay- fuck ya'll! All ya'll I'm-so-comfortable-with myself-that-I'll take-a-shit-with-someone-I-don't-even-know-standing-5-feet-away people. Fuck ya'll!!!



This is the third time this has happened at work. Work! People who work on my floor and make small talk with me!! Work!!



So- I shut down the teeth brushing, and moved to another floor. I saw one of my friends and he asked me what the hell I was doing on his floor with all my toiletries in my hand. So, I told him the story, and asked him if guys would feel comfortable doing some shit like that. He laughed and told me "no". So, as I lay-in to my "A Plopping Shit!" diatribe, guess who walks off the elevator? You got it. So, we laugh.

20 seconds later? The last woman who took a grunting shit. 30 second later? The first offender!!!


God? Universe? First Source? Goddess? Whatever, whomever, however. God has a sense of humor, and sometimes all I can do is laugh.

I Like Charlie!

I love when Charlie starts to laugh at the end. For whatever reason, my thought was "I bet Charlie and I could be friends." But, you know- I steal chairs from pregnant women.



He's sooo cute, right? I think I want to have kids. Because if I do, when my professor asks me, "So, where's that research you were suppose to have done last week?" I can say, "Sorry, I was up all night with my kids", rather than "Sorry, I was up all night streaming videos of kids and blog surfing." The second one makes me sound like a looser.

Wait a minute... the second one is my life... shit!

0/0

Clearly I'm making up for "lost" time when I wasn't procrastinating with my blog, and pulling crap from the far reaches of what could be construed as "interesting", but I thought it was cool to see graphically why 0/0 is undefined; not that it's unsolvable, but that it can give you multiple answers. That's cool.

I do remember that if you take the derivative of something and get 0/0, pretty much you have to say, "Fuck!" and start all over again.

I Stole A Pregnant Woman's Chair Today

Swiped it from her desk while she's away on maternity leave. (How low can I sink??? "Pond scum" comes to mind.)

I realized that I'd taken it when after the meeting was over, I didn't return it to her desk, but I wheeled it over to mine, and replaced her chair with mine!

"Am I stealing this woman's chair? Oh - my - God!! I'm stealing this woman's chair!"

It is SOOOO comfortable, and supportive, and sooo much better than my "old" chair.

In fact, when I was wheeling my chair over to her desk, I realized that my chair had a rip in the upholstery. A big-ass rip- right in the seat-cushion. Where the hell did they get my chair from, the dump?

My "new" chair is pristine. And it's leather- not some ripable cheap textile- oh no!

So, here's the downside to having a leather chair that's got good support: whenever you move around in it, like sliding to the other side of your desk to grab a file, it grabs your pants with just enough friction that it sounds like you're farting.

Now, in a cubicle setting, when someone makes a loud-ass fart sound, are you comforted by an immediate yelling of, "That was the chair, it wasn't me!"? Of course you aren't. No one would be. In fact, if it were me and you said it too quickly, it would make me wonder if you had really farted more than the sound alone.
(Me thinks the farter doth protest too much.)

So, there I sat all day with these intermittent "farts" coming from my cubicle, and resisting the urge to yell out, "I'm NOT farting, okay!?!? It's the chair! Seriously, I stole Matilda's chair, and that's why all these noises are suddenly coming from over here. IT'S THE CHAIR!!"

So, there I sit all day, stewing in humiliating amusement. Here are two things that make this story worse:

1.) No one else in The Cube has a leather chair, so no one else makes these sounds at all- ever!

2.) You know how when you make a sound with your foot, or your mouth, or your hair(?) that sounds like a farting sound, and just to make sure no one thinks you've farted you do it again- so they can see, "Oh, she didn't fart, that's just her hair." Well, the chair will not fart-sound on command! Try as I might- all I get is one loud-ass rip, and then 98 minutes of silence. Another loud-ass rip, and then 2 hours of silence. It's terrible- it's quite pitiable.

So, really I should just return the chair to her, but it's SOOOO comfortable. She comes back from maternity leave in 2 weeks. Man! I wish I'd swiped it 2.5 months ago. I've already caught myself thinking absurd things like, "Well, if she's been gone for three months, maybe she won't remember which chair was hers and she'll think she sat in my chair all along." Or worse, "Well, it's not like she's pregnant now. I mean sure, she needed it then because she was pregnant, but when she comes back she'll have already had her baby."

Christ! Who raised me? Savages?!?

Jesus and Wiener Poopie

I can't believe that he said "wiener poopie" over and over again like that. Was this run on April Fool's Day?

"It has to be a young person because they put all these lines around 'Jesus.' No adult is gonna waste their time doing that."

The best is the end of the story, and the melodramatic tone as they fade out.

This reporter must have really pissed someone off at work to get this assignment!

Time's A-Wastin

The more I think about it, the more I waste my time.

Blogette V

Why do people use irregular measurements when they don't want you to know exactly what they're talking about, but they don't want to ignore your question?

"So, what are you talking about in terms of salary?"

"Uhm... somewhere in the range of about $2,500 per week."

Okay, just so that we're clear, I don't mind you giving me a weekly rate, just so long as you don't mind me totally ignoring you for the next 8-10 seconds while I convert that into an annual salary in my head.

Wow!

I was just wasting valuable sleeping time surfing the net and looking at other people's blogs, when I came across this shot and heard myself say, "wow!"

Uhm- those look like fairly large breasts. They make me want to use words like, "bazoomz." Immediately, I'm reminded of Bette Middler's broadway play in Beaches, where she sings a song about the rivalry between Someone Von Titsling, and Someone Brassiere.

It's where I learned the phrase, "over the shoulder boulder holder" many years ago.

So, certainly I've seen many well-endowed women in gowns(?) on their wedding day. But for whatever reason, when I look at this photo, all I notice is her rather large breasts and wonder what other women do to hide/ornament them on the big day. Lace? Pearls? Pearly-lace? One of those shawl-things? Birds? A long train? Whatever other women do, this shot took me right back to Beaches and 9th grade.

Don't Start No Shit Won't Be No Shit!

Finally! I have ended my 2 year quest to find dress shoes!! Finally!

I was going to buy a pillow, when I passed by a pair of unimpressive loafers. But wait! These aren't loafers, they're mules. (or slides, or whatever other word you may use where you live and however old you may be) Yeah, I think slides is a better word, because it connotes after-the-game soccer shoes in my mind. Slides. I call these shoes slides because they aren't quite appropriate for the office; just a bit too casual.

But, here's my thinking: If I show up to work in the office attire equivalent of flip-flops, is my boss really going to say something to me? Really? I mean, do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is to talk to a grown-ass woman about the inappropriateness of her shoes? That's a hard chat to initiate.

Further, I'm pretty good at rolling it into a joke and then changing the subject. So, they're gonna have to bring it up several times, and then contend with my "aggressive ignorance."
"No, I'm not sure what you're talking about. [dramatic pause] What do you mean?"

And here's what the internal dialogue will be, "You know, she's leaving in a couple of weeks, is this really worth it?"

So, for the next several weeks I'll get to wear t-shirts and flip-flops to work.

The downside to this story is that they didn't have my size, so I'm still shoeless, but at least I now know what to look for in this hunt. (Slides to work... What has become of me???)

And, for the folks that know me, you're gonna see some of my asshole-ishness rise to the surface for the next couple of weeks, or at least until I get caught up on sleep and my back stops hurting. So, take some deep breaths (not so that I notice it though, I may attack you), and call upon some patience. My body hurts, I'm not sleeping, and I have a lot of external deadlines breathing down my neck. So, I may do something as childish and absurd as trying to get away with wearing inappropriate clothes to work when I'm hanging out with you. Reach for compassion, at least for right now. That's really what I need.

Blogette IV

My stomach still hurts!

My Sweaters

Ok- let's be honest. I wear a lot of sweaters. Uhm- probably too many sweaters. In fact, I just took one off to write this. I don't think I'm Bill Cosby addicted, but I probably would rock a Gordon Gartrell...

Anyway, I realized a few months ago that if I wear a sweater to work that means I don't have to iron. Pants come from the cleaners and I'm good to go! Do you have any idea how lazy you become when you realize that you can stop ironing your clothes for work?? (Why get it pressed when it's just gonna be covered up by a sweater?) I was standing in the elevator the other day when I looked down and realized that I haven't tied my shoes since February. February!!

Why? Because I wear a sweater.

Sweaters are like kryptonite of professional fashion critique.

"Uhm, is your shirt all bunched up and wrinkled... Oh, look at that sweater! I really like your sweater. Where did you get it? Oh, and that blazer. That's nice! Can I touch it?"

"Sure, just let me put on my shoes."

Sweaters, they're like the Garanamals of business casual fashion. You can mix and match and still look great.

Unfortunately, it's Spring. And, over the last few months I've started shedding layers. (T-shirt, collard-shirt, sweater, blazer.) And, now that it's warm enough to throw on flip-flops when I get off, I'm going to have to stop wearing my sweaters. No big deal, ordinarily...

I realized today that all of my work clothes are too big for me. All of them. All of my pants are a little too big in the waist. All of my shirts are just a little too big. Everything.

Now, I don't know if I've lost weight, or my self-concept has changed through winter, but I've got a bit of a problem. Now, when Spring rolls around I typically start pulling out more feminine clothing, so maybe that's a factor here. Who knows?

I'm certainly not going to spend time and money on alterations when I'm quitting soon, and heading back into the world of jeans and hoodies to my heart's content. (MMmmm hoodies...)

Maybe I can try to wear t-shirts to work? As long as I wear then with slacks, maybe that will fool them...

Of course, this means I'll have to start tying my shoes again.

Winter Boots

Remember when you were a little kid and winter rolling around meant one thing: MOON BOOTS!!!!

Mine were the super cool ones that had holographic images that appeared when the fabric got cold. (My gloves changed color too.) Well, I'm sure that they still make something like that, or I could hang out on e-bay for hours if I was really determined. But, as an adult who will soon need to contend with the prospect of snow, I did some preliminary snow boot shopping. One question: How come they're all so ugly?

I mean honestly, why must I sacrifice fashion for comfort, warmth, and dryness? Designers seem to be able to knock down three of the four; usually sacrificing fashion. Is the issue that you're out in blistering cold if you're in the snow, and no one walks by you on the street and says, "Nice boots" so it just doesn't matter? Do people up north only wear their snow boots in the snow and then bring a change of shoes for the rest of the day, so who cares what the warm galoshes look like?

I just don't get it. At the price-point that's set for winter boots, I need something that looks good to me. Not, "Oh, those must be really warm." So, it just doesn't feel worth it. I mean, I could just take some superfeet for soles, wrap my feet in garbage bags for waterproofing, and staple on some dead kittens. (Live kittens would be cruel, and I think that dead pets are easy to come by in winter weather. Just conjecture...)

Anyway, I'm swamped right now, but I just wanted to get in at least one blog post this week.