July, 2009


27
Jul 09

part 2: sue’s excellent adventures

after wrestling my giant suitcase up the flight of stairs to my aunt’s house, we all had dinner. i got to see my cousin, nicole & her kids, which are of course, delish. the 3 yr old, replaces all “c’s” with “t’s” and you just plotz (yiddishdictionaryonline.com) when she asks for a “tookie.” the 6 month old is all kinds of roly poly munchiness except for the whole baby barf thing. it is amazing how quickly i forgot about that baby defense mechanism. thus after getting my $186.00 jeans barfed on, i promptly handed her back to mommy saying, “it’s been nice, kid.” i also got to see my other cuz, jj’s daughter who is way wise & well spoken for a 6 year old. it was painfully apparent she is smarter than me.i was to be a nomad this vacation: my enormous suitcase & i to stay one night at each venue. i didn’t mind, but jj wasn’t thrilled about the back problems he was about to have. anyway, since my visit was a last minute joint, they all had to work the next day which meant i was on my own for entertainment. it was decided i was staying with jim & nicole that night, & jim would hang with me til noon the next day because he had the late shift. he took me to this ritzy outdoor shopping area called “the grove.” we had lunch, shot the shit, & people watched til he had to go off to the pediatric coal mines. then it was shopping time for me. of course i shopped mostly in the same exact stores i have at home, but these were different – they were outdoors in LA. i had a great time shopping alone for 5 hours, and after a $164 shoe purchase at michael kors, facilitated by the 22 year old gay sales associate & my new bff, paolo, i realized what has been missing from my life all these years: my very own gay male companion. he gave me the z-snap with a “girl, try these on,” & it was love at first shoe purchase. how i have depended upon my own taste or that of other women all this time is absolutely beyond me. i now realize i am far more inadequate at shopping that ever thought. i could have been all kinds of more fashionable. sigh, i miss you paolo. when i told jj about him, he was stunned, “you mean you don’t already have one [a gay bff]?” no! it’s just not so easy to find a gay bff in the circles in which i travel.of course, being me, i made some interesting observations at la grove. first of all, the security at this place was tighter than that at the airport. there were tiers of security: regular uniformed dudes, suited earpiece dudes, actual police, & i am sure some undercover agents. the overkill just struck me as amusing. jj informed me they have an issue with the homeless camping out in the park area in the middle of the shops. but how they can tell the homeless, from the shaggy but wealthy writers, directors, & producers jim pointed out that hang out there all day must involve a whole other level of security talent. perhaps, it goes by the status of the empty coffee cup – 7/11 vs. starbucks?

eventually, i became exhausted from all that outdoor money spending. i needed to regroup & refuel & sat down to have my own cup of coffee. soon, a commotion ensued. what i witnessed was possibly the most absurd thing i have ever seen. dozens of dudes running through the bistro tables with cameras escorted by all the tiers of security agents chasing some chick whom i didn’t even recognize. she looked like a thin kardashian and had a look of smugness & discomfort on her face at the same time. i later found out it was that turd, adrina from the hills. they followed her all over but didn’t actually go into the stores. it was bizarre to see the paparazzi in action in front of me. if it was that insane for a d-list celeb-reality chick, i wouldn’t want to be anywhere near a brangelina sighting. of course, its all a highly oiled machine. the security dudes & camera jockeys are alerted by her publicist before she comes. absurd, i tell you. i intensely dislike the whole celebrity thing. there are very few celebs i would actually want to meet, but that’s an entirely other topic.

the last thing about the grove: the abercrombie & fitch store had a gorgeous, perfectly sculpted, (read: gay) guy standing in the entrance taking polaroid pix with gaggles of salivating teenage girls & autographing the shots (what was he signing? “to teenage girl/guy, xoxox, 1/2 naked buff pretty gay guy.”) so silly. unless he was for sale & was straight, i had no interest in going in there. i don’t need to be reminded that i need to go to the gym when i am already trying on clothes that don’t fit me. i was sensitive from an earlier encounter in nordstrom, when the twiggy blond sales beyatch getting me a pair of jeans asked me if i was a size 7! the horror. no commission for you! it appears that i am chubby for LA because i eat actual food. LA was fun, but it was time for my giant suitcase & me to be off to vegas with legal eagle cousin the next day.

now i am finally getting to the part you really want to know about: vegas, baby. here is where i have anxiety about the fact that it may be less exciting than expected. as bad as my behavior is, it is minor compared to the mayhem that occurs on a daily basis in a city dedicated to celebrating every sin & over-indulgence imaginable. first off, of course i hadn’t learned my lesson from the newark security debacle, and had all kinds of full sized potions in my carry-on bag again. my cousin just shook his head at me while he was ensnared into the commotion that ensued. i am sure you can imagine the ordeal and let me just say i am lucky i am not at gitmo right now. most of my stuff was trashed & i was down 30 bucks in toiletries before i even made it to vegas.

the southwest flight to vegas from LA is a short, peaceful 40 minute flight complete with the life vest harangue. my cousin pondered, rightfully so, where water was located when flying over the desert. this flight it is so informal, you have to get your seat assignment the night before. and it’s not an actual assignment, so much as the order in which you get to line up for boarding. it boards from the front and the back which necessitates a precise strategy if you want to actually sit with your companion. plus you have to walk out on the tarmac & climb the stairs with your carry on (i had a small one & had totally pared down for the vegas weekend at my cousin’s back’s behest.) its a giant panic attack to get your seats when the people boarding from both directions meet in the middle. once seated, they actually serve you a drink which you must guzzle down, because by the time you get it you are descending. then they throw a tiny bag of peanuts at you as you are on the landing strip.

once we stepped out of the cab, the intense 115 degree heat hits you like a wall. i don’t understand how people can actually live there year round. it’s the desert. we had a gorgeous hotel room at the venetian thanks to my cousin who travels in style, but when we looked out the window, jj remarked, “nothing but ac units as far as the eye can see.” it was time for the pool at 5pm when the temperature dropped – it was only 99 degrees.

now the first thing you notice in vegas is an endless sea of boobs. they are everywhere. jj had warned me, ” in vegas, the breasts come out.” i had no idea just how “out” til i got there. my sluttiest day in suburbia is conservative in vegas and this was pretty much how the club scene went too. here i am thinking i packed the cutest lbd’s (little black dresses) that were cleavage baring & short…they were too long & loose. these girls were wearing dresses so short, they were glorified shirts. so tight you could see what they had for lunch. thank god “personal grooming” has evolved because you could see all that too. so we hit nightclubs on both nights & were close to the oldest people there. that was kinda sucky but didn’t ruin our time. i told my cuz i was going to pimp him out & pick up chicks for him. i totally got rejected every time & have a new found respect for how tough it is for you guys to approach women. gawd, we are downright mean.

the lipstick lesbian thing is big out there & the club we were in the first night, tao, had a tableau of 2 chicks feeling on each other. these 2 couldn’t have been less into it & my thought was, it’s vegas, do it right. i am sure there are hot real lesbians out there they could have gotten for this scene. very lazy, tao.

we danced for hours until i had bloody blisters from the fabu new shoes paolo sold me. the dj thing in vegas is way irritating to us old schoolers. all of their music in on a macbook & they play about 30 seconds of a song & then just as you get into it, switch it. it was like he forgot to take his adderall. eventually, we stumbled back to our room after detouring to the blackjack tables along the way. the dealers are way crabby at 4am or maybe we were just annoying drunk people. my cousin kept trying to give her the room key as his comp card. hey, i was amused. maybe she needs to lighten up.

the next day we sat at the “outdoor” cafe inside the venetian shopping area for breakfast & caffeine hangover repair & watched the mimes perform in the “town square.” we both wanted to injure them. there is just NO need for mimes in this day and age. i am not convinced people from that time in history even liked them. after major coffee imbibment, we stepped outside to sample the dry desert climate. it was 106 degrees by noon. you know that bullshit people try to sell you about” it’s not the heat its the humidity?” sure, it wasn’t so terrible until you noticed the heat convecting off the pavement was singing your leg hairs. we were literally being cooked. it ain’t humid inside my oven either, jackass. 115 is 115 period.

the second night progressed the same way but after the club we hit the “shadow bar” at caeser’s. it is called such because there are chicks standing behind screens dancing that appear to be naked. and they are endlessly cold if you know what i mean. i could not stop watching them. i was utterly entranced. and i am straight, but beauty is beauty be it a woman or man. i did my fair share of ogling both sexes. i am positive they had fake nipples or they were icing up every few minutes.

two random thoughts about resorts especially those of the magnitude of LV. i cannot fathom how there is enough food in the world to keep feeding all of these people. Last time i was in vegas, i hit the rio seafood buffet & just couldn’t compute how there was enough shellfish in the ocean to stock this thing every night. even just the waste alone made my head spin. i calculate it by all the hotels in vegas and then all the hotels & restaurants in the world. crazy to me. the other thing that it is bizarre to me is the fact that your vacation is someone’s job. the zillions of people that are there because it is just a job for them. they are bored and crabby sometimes just like we are at work BUT it’s your vacation and you expect them to be chipper all the time, no matter what. poor customer service sucks, but on vacation, at a resort, totally unacceptable.

so to sum up vegas, baby: we ate, we drank, we danced, we bonded. that was it. no major drunken escapades or crazy hookups with donkeys & midgets. just 2 middle aged cousins going through bad divorces and letting off some steam. it was really healing and we both had the same thought over dinner: my dad would have been so happy to see us having so much fun together. it’s so sad that just trying to survive our bad marriages all the years caused us to lose touch. we felt reunited. that was the best thing i got out of the weekend. the family that stayed behind in LA, however, found the lack of scandal to be disappointing & still aren’t truly convinced we aren’t hiding anything from them.

we had the greatest cab ride back to the airport. our cabbie decided the bumper to bumper traffic to the airport on a vegas sunday was not of his concern, he drove down the express lane – the shoulder. needless to say he was tipped handsomely.

now i had one last day to kill on my own until i left on the redeye home. everybody was at work again & i had stayed at my aunt’s place in marina del ray the last night. after wasting most of the day lounging around, i decided to get a cab to venice beach to do some shopping. the cabbie was lovely until i realized he kept asking me the same questions over & over & i was sure he was on his way to full blown dementia. he took me to the pier at santa monica instead of venice beach which was an extra 10 bux and told me, “venice is that way.” it only took 40 minutes to walk there on already blistered feet (i was 4 band aids deep at this point). but the show that is called venice was well worth it.

now if you have never been there, you need to know, venice is a self proclaimed “artists’ colony,” aka community of homeless/drug addicts/crazy people that craft. they sit on the beach side & there is flea markety type shopping on the other. some of the artists don’t even bother to pretend to sell their crafts, they just display signs that say things like, “need cigarettes. god bless.” or, “i don’t sell drugs but please buy my painted skulls.” venice attracts a rough crowd & some regular characters. i have seen the rollerblading turbaned guitar playing dude every time i have been there. he started out with rollerskates & has evolved to these super pro-blades. no trip to venice is complete without seeing hm. he must be getting close to retirement. if he was smart he would sell his franchise.

what was most striking to me about venice, is that since the last time i was there 2 things have happened: botox & california has all but legalized marijuana use. so there are “doctors” on the beach “evaluating” you for “medical marjuana” use. you can also get “botox on the beach” right next to your “evaluation.” i refrained from being evaluated & botoxing, but i did score some cool digs. i bought a top that was see through & needed a tank under it. pre-vegas i would have worn it with such, post vegas, i didn’t care, i wore it home on the plane as is. the lovely, elderly couple from ohio sitting next me, wondering how many answering machine messages they had at home, tried to avert their eyes, but it became impossible when i bent over & had 2/3 of my thong & asscrack hanging out. vegas sure can eliminate a gal’s inhibitions.

so all in all, i had a wonderful time. i saw my family, bonded, healed, ate, drank ,was merry, got to escape the insanity i live with in this mental ward on a daily basis, & have a renewed love of traveling.

yay, me.

the “doctor’s office”

harry perry of venice beach rollerblading fame. thanks for the pic google.

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22
Jul 09

going to california: part 1

so, here is the eagerly-awaited vacation post*. settle in because it’s loooonnnnng…

so, last week, charles in charge took the girls to disney with his mommy & daddy. his mommy actually came over the week before to pack & shop for the girls because mr. i want full custody couldn’t handle such a taxing proposition. but i digress. the reason i share this is that i am a huge opportunist & i saw my chance to grab a simultaneous vacation of my own. after much arranging, i decided to visit my cousins in LA & sandwich in a vegas weekend.

i used to love traveling: my parents took us away a lot. for many years my chanukah present was to visit said cousins on my own over x-mas break. after college, i backpacked through europe for 6 weeks, 3 of which, were on my own. the mental patient and i used to travel a lot until the babies came and even then we did our fair share. but unfortunately, i eventually learned that there are 2 kinds of travelers: the happy, laid back, excited to be going anywhere traveler = good traveling companion & the uptight, anxiety-ridden, miserable, generally nasty traveler = horrific companion. guess which one of us was which? enough miserable vacations over 16 years dulled my taste for travel & i came to dislike it. i no longer wanted to go anywhere. then, after the worst vacation i was ever on with the eternally whiny traveler, i finally realized it wasn’t travel i hated, but the companion. and it struck me, if a person can not be happy on vacation, he can not be happy anywhere.

i dig traveling. what i abhor are all the things you have to do before you can actually do it: making the plans, running all your last minute pre-travel day errands (my to-do lists are endless & in no way achievable. see chronoptomist in urban dictionary), putting the house on lock-down, major shopping, pre-trip grooming (it’s thorough and i wonder, “why do i feel the need to be waxed, pedi-ed, mani-ed, colored, cut, & generally fabulous for other travelers/vacationers i will never see again?”). but what i hate most is the packing. i despise it for one reason: i am a bit of clothes-horse/wanna-be fashionista and get antsy when separated from my closet. packing gives me anxiety because i need wardrobe options. how can i know what i want to wear for dinner 3 days from the day i am choosing outfits to bring? i normally dress on a whim. i put on & take off 27 different articles of clothing before settling on one outfit. i do that several times a day. i need to be dressed just exactly right for the venue/activity to promote optimal self-confidence (unless i am hooked up to a vodka drip). i need a plane outfit too. i want to be all glam like those asian chicks in the dresses & heels at the airport, but i just can’t. comfort wins & i look like a barely fashionable slob. don’t even get me started on the agony of choosing a finite selection of shoes. so the obvious remedy? O V E R P A C K. i packed enough for a month, several different climates, 2 time zones, & any haberdashery caprice i might have. i was leaving for 5 days for 1 climate. i schlepped that bulging suitcase to my car with only minor damage to the sheetrock. miraculously the suitcase came in under the 50lb limit. barely.

then after all of this intense, heart-wrenching packing you have to be prepared to never see your beautiful, perfectly planned outfits (with options), again if you are planning on checking the bag. basic physics dictated that i was not getting that giant suitcase under the seat in front of me. it had to be checked. so i said a little prayer to gloria vanderbilt, the patron saint of checked luggage, and hoped for the best. i usually say, “goodbye clothes, until we meet again. you have served me well. hope to see you again, perfect outfits.” i am sure this is what shakespeare meant when he wrote that, “parting is such sweet sorrow.” if you truly love something, set it free right? and giving them that bag is so final. all your faith is in that tag they stick on your luggage, the hope that you kissed the bag checker-inner’s ass well enough, and the kindness of strangers behind the scenes to ensure your bag will join you on the other side. i have had my bag lost several times. there is no more naked a feeling than when you are the last person standing there still optimistic after 90 minutes and no more bags are coming out of the chute. you defeatedly trod over to the lost luggage counter to fill out the paperwork knowing they don’t really care if you are ever reunited with your shoes again…

there is the “getting to the airport” routine which is an experience in of itself because it requires figuring out a precise time line in which you must derive the exact moment you need to be at the gate. it takes a degree in quantum physics. once you get that settled, you must decide the mode in which you shall transport yourself to the airport. will you drive & chose a parking option: long term, short term, off premise, monorail, shuttle, or pack-mule? should you just get a car to drive you? this is cool when you return because you have your very own driver to whom you can say, “home james.” i grew up with a dad that was “the early guy.” we always got there hours before & he had ants in his pants until we boarded, but he was never nasty. i remember the good ol’ days when you only had to be there 1 hour before your flight. then one day some assholes flew some planes into the WTC & now you have to be there 3 hours before to get through security. maybe you are one of those last minute people that are sprinting into the airport to make it on board in time. helpful hint: never have one of these people drop you off, or as my pop called it “the dump & run.” all that aside, getting to the airport is generally the easy part. it’s actually getting on the plane that is the challenge…

after waiting for all the clueless people in front of you to figure out the nearly useless e-ticket machine, it’s onto the horror show called (cue ominous music) security. you know i have to bitch about airport security. no airline travel rant can overlook that hot mess. can someone tell me why i still have to take my gd shoes off to go through security? is shoe-smuggling still a major threat to the country? are there roaming violent packs of 5′0 women wearing platforms diverting planes to nordstrom’s? do toddlers really need to be put through that torture? as far as a 3 year old knows, she is never getting her shoes back & that warrants a colossal melt-down. now the airport smells like feet & is just a giant case of athlete’s foot waiting to happen. there are podiatrists opening up offices in the terminals. and oh, god, the fucking liquids. i threw a full size bottle of saline into my carry on meaning to transfer it to my suitcase but forgot it was even in there. needless to say i caused a stir at the x-ray machine & narrowly escaped a full cavity search because apparently, it is common for most terrorists to wear contacts that dry out on the plane. ummm, TSA? just a thought, but perhaps, once you uncover a terrorist plot involving shoes & liquids, they have moved on to bigger ideas. do you think the terrorists got together & said, “we use 3oz bottles & higher for the liquid TNT. got that, habib? nothing under 3oz – let those dirty americans have their travel size toiletries to carry-on, but that’s it.” but, you sure can check all the liquid you want. you can pack a keg of nitroglycerin in your suitcase & that’s not a problem at all as long as you pay the oversize baggage fee. makes no sense to me. i suppose the terrorists don’t check bags. seems to me someone could be making a lot of money on efficient airline security technology.

after you barley make it out alive from security, there is the boarding adventure. this where you get stuck behind the family with 4 children & 15 carry-ons because they didn’t want to pay the extra ransom of $15 per checked bag (each way). there is no way all that stuff fits overhead but they are determined to do it even if they hold up the entire boarding process. when i finally find my seat, i heave a sigh of relief that someone else isn’t already sitting in it. its like airplane roulette. will they have randomly given my seat to someone else even though it was promised to me more than once? (this why my dad made us get there uber early & race down the jetway like it was the last stretch of the NYC marathon as soon as they let us. that was before the days of boarding you in numerical order. don’t even think of trying to pull that shit now.) if my seat is actually vacant, i always get stuck in the middle between 2 giant people that feel they can spread out in the extra space around me. w r o n g. i may be small, but i overpaid for this seat & i want every centimeter of it to myself. god forbid i should even think about asking mr. aisle seat to get up so i can pee after holding it in for 2.5 hours. he is visibly annoyed. perhaps you didn’t realize having the aisle seat means 2 other people are trapped next to you & are at your mercy for bladder relief. gawd. or should you dare to try to pee too soon after take-off, you are met with the major disapproval of the flight attendants akin to catholic school nuns. i promise i will never ever again say to my kids, “but, you just went,” or “i told you to go before we left, now you have to wait.” i now know how infuriating that is. apparently, you are only allowed to empty your bladder when you are perfectly horizontal to gravity. i actually found myself asking permission. i paid 600 bux to sit in this sardine can & i am asking the snarky male flight attendant if i can go potty? fuck yeah, i can go. if he says no i will pee on his shoes.

but i do love the airplane honor code. the code states you can leave anything in your seat or under the seat in front of you when you go to the lav & no one else will touch it. it’s a strict honor code that is never messed with. you could leave a wad of cash when you get up to use that tiny loo & it will be there when you return. you could get sucked out that super jet propulsion toilet into space when you flush it & never return & your stuff will still be there. you’re all in this together while the plane is in the sky. but before or after its survival of the fittest.

next you have to sit through that whole asinine “turn off your electronic devices.” rant. this is a huge farce. the plane is not going to crash if we all have our ipods & cells on. they just realized no one pays attention to the safety speil anymore which is generally a ridiculous video now. they want to hold you captive & force you to pay attention to the life vest/oxygen mask/seat as a flotation device demo you have seen 400 times and will completely forget how to do should the unthinkable happen & the plane has a “water landing (i.e. crashes into the ocean at a zillion mph).” forget the life vest & squeeze the charmin, because if that happens, i am gonna shit my pants. and they are so pushy about the electronic lock-down. don’t even have your earbuds in place because they will make you show them that your ipod is indeed black-screened. ditto on trying to recline a millimeter before takeoff or landing, because the 180 degree position the seat is in is unnatural to any biped with a spine. they will forcibly push your seat forward while reprimanding you loudly in front of your fellow passengers like your first grade teacher. when did the flight staff get so surly even though they “realize i have many choices for air travel?”

after you listen to the safety rant, you have to listen to the captain do his schtick. how come they all sound the same & are unintelligible? they introduce themselves & then babble about flight coordinates & wind sheer like we care. our main concern as passengers is not dying in a crash. basically, please don’t kill us. that’s all we want to know from you. then just as you are nodding off the captain comes on to tell you about the turbulence. really? no shit. is that why my internal organs are trying to exit my body all at once? or they want to point out shit to look at like we are on a tauk tour. shut up & fly the fucking plane. tell me when we’re there. but i will probably figure that out on my own anyway when we bounce off the pavement at 1000 mile per hour during your smooth landing, cap’n crunch.

all that’s left is to sit there & fly armed with the knowledge that we do not belong up in the sky in the first place & could plummet out of it at any minute. to take your mind off of that haunting vision, there are distractions provided to you: drink, food, A/V, & in seat shopping courtesy of skymall. first you get a drink. you have to beg for a whole can & they are not pleased with your greediness. just because you paid over 800 clams to sit in coach does not mean you can have an entire 50 cent can of soda. the best part of the whole damn thing is when you get a plane where each seat has its own tv. that is flying nirvana. then what follows is the presentation of a loose confederation of molecules they claim to be food. we all know how repulsive it usually is. it’s palatability is rated on a scale of horrible to not that bad. after you’re done eating, the flight crew is very particular about how you give them your trash. they are really bitchy if you don’t do it properly. and then i live for “sky mall.” where else can you buy a $300 portable microwave or hot dog toaster? learn 59 languages while asleep or buy a set of stairs for your stupid mutt? it all seems brilliant in the sky but on the ground not so much.

finally it is time to land & get out of that tinder box. what is it about travel that makes you look like you have just been released from a work camp? i always look like hell when the plane lands. i try to freshen up before landing, but i wind up settling for looking “mildly disheveled.” then, its basically the reverse schtick as boarding, except now you have to pee, your legs are cramped and you have to wait for the same idiots who stuffed all that crap overhead to get it out. but you have made it. another safe flight, thank god.

i met my aunt at the baggage claim. she almost fainted at the sight of my 49.5 pound suitcase, but i assured her i could handle it. i am small but mighty, like the little ceasar dog. i inhaled the familiar smog of LAX, stepped into the bright california sun, caught sight of the gently swaying palm trees, made a mental note to go blond, & smiled. i was back in my old stomping ground, LA. without kids & free from dreadful travel companions. i was ready to party…


this is me with the californian cousins circa 1988 on a trip to disney.
i dragged them every year. they pretended to hate it, but i knew they were secretly happy to have an excuse to go.

me (check out my enormous 80’s earrings & stylin’ 1/2 shirt), jj (when he had hair), & nicole (her hair was just cleared for take-off).

*a very sexy lawyer has advised i add this disclaimer*

this post & all those that precede or follow it are for entertainment purposes. it does not represent any real people, living, dead, or zombies, or events. it represents the OPINIONS of the author & is based on a compilation of events, stories, & personas.

so suck it, whiners.

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13
Jul 09

one bad apple


well, after 4 torturous days that felt like 14, i am back online. my stoooopid macbook arbitrarily had a hissy fit & decided that it no longer recognized safari which is the mac browser. that’s like your own white blood cells attacking the red ones. needless to say, i was beyond irate and even more so that i couldn’t get an appointment with the pompous nerds at the “genius bar” until today. hey mac, you just can’t go getting people all addicted to their technology and then take it away. even heroin addicts get methadone to ease withdrawal symptoms. it’s just plain reckless. i have never felt so helpless & disconnected from the world as i have in these ever-long 4 days.

of course, you know a nasty rant directed at steve jobs, was brewing deep in the bowels of my left hemisphere. i considered writing him a letter, but a friend of mine told me no one would give a shit & i realized that was probably true. my pal said, “blog it out, baby.” so i am. let’s begin. shall we?

first of all, i am the marketing wet dream demographic for apple: a loyal pc user who finally got sick of the constant crashing & burning of my pc, who was ready to switch over to the alternate mac lifestyle, and who could actually afford their damn overpriced mac. their trendy commercials with the cute guy & hipster music finally got to me. i was finally convinced that the superstylin’ mac was the answer to my technological prayers. so, one day i was so po’ed at the ETB (ex to be) & i decided that was it, i need my own laptop, i am going to go spend way too much money on a mac. i stormed out of the house and straight to the mall.

i walked into the apple store & angels sang. i had never seen anything like it. it’s clean minimalist design was like walking through the gates of heaven. beautiful displays of macs, mac books, a clever rainbow of ipods, & sparkling iphones with endless “apps.” it was gorgeous. a sing-song voice in my head purred, ” you belong here. ” a voice which i would later identify as satan’s, because that can only be who turned it all around for apple. and not only did the staff wear color coded t-shirts, but the service was magnanimous. so helpful. finally, computer geeks who treated me with respect and they didn’t even work on commission. the salesnerd actually could have cared less if i bought anything. and i bought their speil about how the mac was finally “friendly” to pc users & compatible with pc programs. “seamless integration.” so it seemed. if the extensive table area devoted to “mac school” didn’t tip me off to the world of trouble i was about to sign on for, then the gd “genius bar” should have. instead of thinking, “is it a problem that there is a need for a free service area devoted exclusively to helping you fix glitches?,” i thought, “how nice, a free service area devoted exclusively to helping you fix glitches” mistake number 1. but i was oblivious. i had fallen in love at first sight and there was no stopping me.

and people can’t buy these macs fast enough. they have absolutely mainstreamed. the store is crowded with masses of sheep no matter what time of day or night you go. if you say,”hey, i will come back later when its not busy. when is that?” the answer is “never.” even if you elect to wait, they will tell you there is no guarantee you will be served that day. on the weekend, there is a line out the door with an actual rope akin to those at disney rides during high season. it is the new dmv. and the suckiest part is, those f*n techno-nerds are immune to womanly charms. cleavage & batting eyelashes will get you no where with them. that is generally my go-to schtick with male service people. fans, my natural wit & charm only go so far on their own.

what follows is the horrifying aftermath of my formerly proud purchase. once home, i took my spanky brandy new mac notebook home & gingerly unpacked it. i inhaled its new computer smell & imagined how my life would immediately change & my laptop & i would live happily ever after. oh sure, i liked the styling of the sites & the fresh applications so much that i was willing to overlook that learning a whole new vernacular wasn’t as easy as promised. i imagined instead how i would edit photos, make home movies, build websites, become a graphic designer, & finally evolve into the self-sufficient techno-geek i secretly longed to be. like any new love, it started out dreamily, but then things between us quickly got rocky. after a month, there were issues & i was searching mac self-help sites for ways to fix glitches on my own. extensive, endless articles on numerous sites. i had no patience to read even 1 of these lengthy articles. forget reading all of those nerd threads & posts. this was clearly not a good sign. and i hardly had time to learn all the new mac apps, much less use them. one day my email & internet access became spotty and the next, the unthinkable happened: 2 days before my year long warranty expired, the hard drive crashed & burned & i lost everything. i called it the “great hard drive crash of ‘08,” and although the dorks hidden in the secret mac store back room replaced it, when i asked about all the stuff that was lost, they asked if i had been backing up the hard drive. NO! that’s why i asked, asshole. turns out that unless i had an extra grand laying around for them to “send it out” & only attempt to retrieve my info, no dice. for 1000 smackers, i wasn’t even guaranteed any info could be retrieved. so, i decided to rebuild my itunes library (they are generous enough to resend all of your itune store purchases, but you are warned only this once), take new pix of my kids, & resolved to back up my hard drive forevermore (which i still haven’t done because, apparently, i still haven’t learned my lesson). even though i made the warranty period by 2 days (thank goodness for small things), the damage was done. i had fallen out of love and now i was stuck with an overpriced crappy piece of hardware. get this too – when i asked the dweeb why the hard drive would crash like that he said, “it could be from being moved around too much.” from being moved around too much. it’s a gd laptop. movement is in inherent in the design. otherwise it would be a tower & non-portable. OMG! i was fallng out of love quickly.

another few months went by & i tried to make this doomed relationship work. i really did. and we got along the mac & i. my trust was being rebuilt. then one day i completely lost email access. after another trip back to the geniuses, i learned that after they get you hooked on your pretentious dot mac email address, and you officially change over from being a pc user to a mac user, they neglect to tell you that it cost 100 bux a year to “rent” that space on their server they so happily gave you when you bought the mac. my year had run out. ok, fine i shelled out their ransom because i didn’t feel like finding a new email home or having to update all of my contacts. oh, AND also, all of my saved emails that i needed for my divorce were being held hostage on their server until i paid them their blackmail money. ok, so another major let-down, but we got back on track yet again. what choice did i have?

once again, mac & i lived in harmony for the most part. oh there were issues, but nothing i couldn’t handle. then the gd dvd drive stopped reading discs. the drive would swallow the cd until i forced it out. of course, i had refrained earlier from paying for the $99 extended warranty after the great crash, because, well because, i like to gamble in the extended warranty/service plan arena, & mostly i am an idiot. i let it be & i decided i would deal with the dvd drive later knowing i would have no choice but to throw a lot of money at it at some point. then the face plate also cracked for no apparent reason and was immune to any kind of glue to repair it. what an all around piece of shit! i officially hated the mac now.

a few more months went by & then after i posted my blog on july 9th, the internet blacked out. everything else worked on the laptop except of course anything that required the use of the internet which, by the way, is EVERYTHING. there was nothing wrong with the wireless connection in my house. i am no schmuck – i had already checked that out thoroughly becasue that’s always the first question they ask you, “well, did you plug it in?” yes, bitch, i did.

so after i checked in for my appointment with the concierge today, whom, by the way is the hot chick nerd, which makes her the fucking snot-ass homecoming queen of the apple store, the trekkie fixed it today. he fixed it, not by fixing safari, but by installing a new browser. he still has no idea why safari stopped working. he only knew he had 137 people after me to process. furthermore, the cheapest option, his exact words, for replacing the “optical reader” (that’s nerd speak for dvd drive) would be $300.00 & involved “sending it out” for a week. know why? because i decided not to buy the 99 dollar warranty several months ago. i opted to hold off on that fabulous offer. aaaaauuuuggggggghhhhh. it seems the only answer to fixing the mac involves endlessly spending more money. everything is an add-on with these fuckers. apparently nothing is included with a 2000k laptop other than a fancy light up apple on the front. so now, i am stuck in a dead end relationship with this obnoxious piece of caca. it will be easier to get out of my marriage than to get a new laptop. i don’t have that kind of funding anymore.

there is a reason apple never dominated the pc market. its not the bill gates conspiracy theory apple likes to sell us. it’s because their products suck ass. even the first day i had my ipod it froze & i couldn’t use it for the 5 hour plane trip for which it was specifically purchased. the airport had an ipod kiosk & the dude’s answer was to let the battery run down & try again. oh really, einstein? stellar advice i never would have figured out on my own due to the fact that i couldn’t do anything other than exactly that BECAUSE IT WAS FROZEN. so not only was i up shit’s creek without my music paddle, but i was out 200.00 clams. yes, the damn ipod eventually worked but randomly freezes whenever it feels like it. like for example, when i want to use it. plus apple likes to come out with a new version of the overpriced gadget you just bought a week ago which is really irritating. oh they will let you upgrade, but you are now inconvenienced again. why not just tell people to buy it next week? jerks. and they just can’t get you hooked in enough. integrate everything. make it all wireless. let your mac talk to your pc. let your iphone talk to them & to your email. let your iphone own your soul so when it craps out you are a shell of a human who forgot that you actually used your own brain independently at one time.

sitting there today waiting for my laptop to be fixed, i watched an endless stream of people with laptops, giant towers, ipods, itouches, & iphones wait in line for a visit with the “geniuses.” it finally occurred to me way too late, if the apple products were so damn good, then in theory, the genius bar should be empty. if the stuff is so easy to use, why the need for “mac school?” it’s supposed to be a seamless transition for us pc users to mac use. all a colossal bunch of bullshit. other than the lack of worry about computer viruses, macs are no better than pcs. just a more flashy operating platform with snob appeal & a huge advertising budget. i am less pissed with mac for packaging a piece of shit as a gold bar, than i am with myself for the fact that i considered myself so savvy, but fell for their brilliant marketing campaign. kudos, mac! i could have gotten another sucky pc and paid half as much for the same amount of inconvenience. and to think i had also actually contemplated getting an iphone. no freakin’ way now, boys.

so, from the bottom of my heart, fuck you apple. you’re just plain rotten.

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9
Jul 09

the rainbow

in honor of happy july 9th day, here are 9 of my random confessions in no particular order of randomness:

1. as i wheel out my groceries at wegman’s, i frequently watch the cart-jockeys, as i like to call them, scoot about (when i am not wandering around like a mental patient looking for where i parked my car & obsessively playing auto marco polo with my car key beepy thingy in the hopes of using sonar to locate it like i am fucking bat), i decided that it must be one of the suckiest suburban jobs to have. you never get a feeling of satisfaction that you completed your task because the minute you think you’re done, some jappy bitch on her cell phone leaves a cart in the middle of the parking lot. you’re mostly in all kinds of bad weather; plus, you have to gather all the crap people leave behind in their carts (guilty as charged, your honor) & dispose of it.
2. . i have seriously considered writing a book called suburban girl: a life spent in wegman’s & nordstrom’s since i have spent a great deal of my milf life in these two places. i oft wonder if i will be still sitting there in 30 years drinking coffee & eating salads with the same yentas after the senior bus drops me off there.
3. another job that i am sure would suck: being the asshole that puts those flyers underneath everybody’s windshields. dude, we all fucking hate you & pitch those things immediately. if i eat take out from your restaurant i already have your menu. if i don’t, your restaurant sucks. i don’t need my gd windows cleaned and i am not getting my cleaning service, pet sitter, babysitter, or math tutor from a randomly placed flyer in a parking lot i was in for 10 minutes. ditto for the mailbox & door flyer stuffers. way to go tree-killing litter makers.
4. i have absolutely no issue with gay people. i wholeheartedly support you & your freedom to do anything you want including having your own logo, but what made you think you could take the rainbow, something so universally & innocently loved by adults & children alike, & just claim it like that? i happen to love rainbows & now can not wear them or display them ever again. you should have asked the rest of us earthmates if we minded if you borrowed it. what happened to your pink triangle? we had no issue with that. we thought it was clever and it wasn’t in our everyday vernacular. case in point: the story of my dad & “the rainbow.” once upon a time, my parents were vacationing in rehobeth beach which apparently has or caters to a large gay population. my parents were patronizing the local haberdashery as it was my father’s custom to buy a bb cap as a memento of his travels. so, my dad spied a cap with a rainbow on it that he really liked. he brings it up to the cashier, where the woman is just looking at him oddly b/c he is obviously not the typical dude to buy this kind of headgear. finally after an uncomfortable silence, she says, “sir, i don’t know how to tell you this, but this cap signifies the gay lifestyle, & i can’t let you buy it & walk out of here without knowing that.” my dad gratefully chose another cap. and that is my exact point, rainbow hoarders, we all dig the rainbow and i want it back as communal property.
p.s. after sharing this rant with one of my friends, the reply was, “don’t worry, you still have unicorns.” witty, but not the same fucking thing.
p.p.s. i took that picture of the rainbow above from my car – guess from which locale i was departing? nordstrom. i am nothing, if not consistent.
5. i was way ahead of my time as a curly haired girl. humidity has always ruled my social life. in high school i used hand cream to smooth out my frizzies & deep conditioned regularly. in college i had a major curl routine which involved a complicated pattern of wisps. i had figured out how to control the locks. now its a billion dollar industry. unlike al gore & the internet, i am sure i didn’t invent the frizz control products, but where were you when i needed you in the 80’s and the 90’s before straightening irons hit the scene? hmmmmmm? now i have 32 varieties of frizz fighters under my bathroom sink & have to be monitored in the hair care section to prevent me from buying any more.
6. it is a little known fact that wifedom & motherhood is fancy for “keeper of the crap.” i am keeper of all the items in my house. i know where every single thing is in my house and will withhold that info when asked for a missing thing if i am pissed at the crap seeker. first of all even, though i was unanimously appointed keeper of all things rosenthal pre-divorce filing, i didn’t ask to be elected (post filing, the head mental patient keeps it all under deadbolt & key. never know what a disgruntled ex-wife to be might do to your precious concert tees, mr. paranoia). i don’t care about your crap, darlings. i know where my stuff is. i wield the power of my elected position irresponsibly when i feel like it and throw stuff out whenever i damn well please. sometimes my kids catch me & pull stuff out of the garbage and i ain’t the least bit remorseful. i hate the mounds of stuff that results from combining 2 lives & adding kids to it. i hate the endless purchasing of unnecessary crap for said kids due to multiple grandparent inability to say “NO,” & new super-daddy overindulgence. just viewing the sheer volume of useless crap causes me to need a xanax. i don’t look at my pending divorce as losing 1/2 of my shit, i am divorcing all of his crap. another bennie. yay failed marriage!
7. ever have people in your life you have been just acquaintances with for so long that you don’t remember how you even know them? and it has never progressed beyond the “hello, how are you?” (and “please don’t really tell me because i don’t really give a shit anyway.”) stage? i usually have no interest in pursuing it past that with said people. well eventually i get sick of the routine & just stop saying hello without even trying to feign not seeing them in front of me. then i am actually relieved i cut it off already. turns out i am one of those aforementioned snotty bitches.”
8. let’s all agree to stop pretending to be horrified when we get a re-gift or find out someone we know got one. you know you have all done it for a variety of reasons: to save money, to get rid of something you dislike but can’t return, you plain forgot to buy a gift & it’s the last minute, or maybe you really just don’t give a shit about the person for whom you have to get a gift. if it’s unused, wrapped, or has tags, it’s new. what is the bfd? get over it. if you get a re-gift you don’t want, pass it on. just make sure you are passing on a re-gift of equal value or greater to a previous gift you received from that person. and whatever you do, keep tabs of who bought you or your kids what. i once re-gifted the exact gift someone got for my kid’s b-day to their kid a month later. awwwkwaaaard.
9. the real reason i never got a tattoo is not that i am morally opposed to them or find them that offensive. not even the imagined pain bugs me. i find miami ink fascinating but i am not a huge fan by any means of the major coverage tattoo. i can see how a small, hidden one is cute. sexy even, because only a special few would get a peek. the real reason is that i can’t commit to one thing being on my body forever. i change my hairstyle & color every time i go to the salon & re-invent my personal style seasonally (= a reason for shopping). i would get bored with whatever i got eventually and we all know how i do with remorse. also the places i would want to get one are so done already: the tramp stamp, the treasure trail, etc. last july, i was very close to getting a “fuck you, i am getting divorced” tat of the japanese kanjii for strength (chikara), but opted for a necklace that said it instead and guess what? i got tired of wearing that damn necklace because the phase had finally passed. life really is just a series of phases anyway, as someone quite wise once told me.

norm’s hat collection. he didn’t fuck around.
we buried him in in his favorite (note the empty peg).
gawd, i miss him.
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6
Jul 09

sweatin’ to the oldies.

first off: i feel slightly remorseful & i need to apologize for dissin’ my girl, the teddy bear lover, & those considered to be “teddy bears.” it’s not so much i don’t support her hooking up choices, rather i just saw an opportunity for material & seized it. girl, u know i love you. plus, you know more secrets about me than anyone else (shut-up miller or i will punish you with my scanner) and i will gladly give you a guest spot here & your chance to unload ‘em.

okay, so i am the ultimate yo-yo exerciser. when i am into the gym, i am way into it. i work out for at least an hour 4-5 times a week. i get antsy if i want to go one day and my schedule doesn’t allow. i buy an entire workout wardrobe, stock up on workout bras, fuel up my ipod with my “gym jams” (no lie on the playlist name), buy an arsenal of hair things, acquire cute little white ankle socks, get new sneaks, & a matching water bottle. but, when i fall off the work-out wagon, i fall long and hard abandoning my beloved gym for months at a time. this usually happens in winter, when i tend to hibernate like a bear cub. when i finally do get back on the wagon again, i can’t imagine how i ever fell off in the first place. i turn into the eternally wearing work out clothes about town chick. i am really hoping that i am back on for good, but let’s see how cold it is this winter…
part of my love for the gym lies in the whole gym schtick. i love oogleing the young firm bucks (i do always get caught), checking out the parade of gym homecoming queens (i.e. perfectly toned silicone sisters), the over muscled macho men (always in a tank top), the hot trainers that work there (which, btw, is my only qualification for hiring a trainer), and all the other characters in between. i love seeing tons of people i know there & yenta-ing up a storm. i love that i have run into people i haven’t seen in ages & become reunited. in fact, just this morning, i collected another recruit for my single chicks cult.
i also really love taking the classes but i hate the real estate hierarchy of classes. when you’re a newbie you are relegated to a tiny spot in the back. only the die-hards that could teach the class themselves can stand in the front row. i hate the whole scrambling for position and not knowing the proper gear to retrieve from the closets and i absolutely despise not knowing the routine & feeling like i can’t keep up. as time goes by & you become an established member of the class, you can slowly start clawing your way up front & jockeying for prime instructor front property. it usually requires getting there way before the class begins so you can sprint in & dump your stuff in a spot. it is so cut throat in the popular classes, that no matter how chatty cathy friendly you think you are with the other chicks waiting, its all women for herself when those doors open. elbows are being thrown akin to a secret manhattan prada sample sale. some days i force myself to take a class when i am tired or just not really into it and i watch the clock like i did in high school & count down until its over. now with the gym being extra busy in the summer, i have given up on the classes altogether & settled for the elliptical. and i do truly love your comfortable no impact work out mr. elliptical, but some days i find myself a wee bit bored with you. but generally i love jammin’ out to my ipod, texting my pals, laughing out loud at comedy central with the closed captioning, & watching the peeps in front of me while breaking a mondo sweat on that lovely machine. i just don’t feel like i worked out unless i get that drippy sweat that cascades down my back & pools in my ass crack. now that is a good workout. i do feel like a hamster in a wheel though, doing my 30 minutes forward & 30 minutes backward. if i break it down, i am endlessly paying 40 bucks a month to rent an elliptical.
i tried yoga which i found to be a snore-fest which is really the very point of it. i just can’t relax on a higher level without alcohol being involved. i dig pilates but i am not a loyal follower. i want to get my arms buff but hate going onto the floor with all those guys that look like they are going to eat me for dinner. i need a workout buddy to transition myself over to the weight area or a hot trainer…
but let’s get back to my favorite thing about the gym other than elliptical induced endorphin rush- the people wtaching. jeebus, do i love the people watching!!! i dig watching the people on the treadmills that put the incline up to 10, the mph to 6, and then hold on for dear life to keep up. i used to love to watch the stair-master climbers at my old gym hunched over it climbing away at 90 mph. and from my observations, i have ascertained there is no just way for a dude to look straight while doing the elliptical. sorry guys. then there are the locker room rituals of which i have never really partaken. i don’t do the whole getting ready for my day after my workout thing. i don’t even use a locker for my purse. i annoyingly stick it into the tiny space between machines for others to trip over. the only thing i do in the gym locker room is actually fill up my water bottle in the bathroom sink which causes some chicks to look at me with a mix of disgust & horror.
now there is a snack bar at my gym & i don’t get the whole snack bar thing because its really anti-the reason i am there. plus it sucks to smell toasted bagels while i am working out before breakfast & starving. if they served vodka smoothies i might reconsider cause there are 2 dudes workin’ that snack bar that are waaaaay hot & we all know i like to work the cuties at the bar. actually i would love if they would come around and take coffee orders. that would make it just abso perfect.
so there you go, that’s my gym rant. who want’s to meet on the elliptical tomorrow?
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5
Jul 09

teddy bears

among thoughts of gratitude about my blessed american freedoms this forth of july weekend, i had thoughts about the whole mating dance we women are free to do while out on the town during such weekends.
obviously the first issue about being on the prowl is assessing the attractiveness of the potential prey. attraction makes the world go round as superficial as it is. most women like to get a group consensus that the stalkee is worth the time & effort involved in the intricate stalking ritual. however, the more fundamental issue at hand is having “similar taste” in said mark. so you can not only get the assurance of the group you are not hunting down a gnome, but also clearly mark your territory. most times this works flawlessly, as your best girl will point out important shortcomings you hadn’t noticed like hairy man toes glaring out of flip flops or the dude’s girlfriend standing next to him giving you the death eye just as you were going in for the kill (and, btw, in the latter situation, the lionesses in my posse all concur, “hey, honey, all yours,” because we ain’t gonna scrap over any potential sperm donors).
speaking of physical attraction, i have a pal whom i adore but our “type” differs significantly. at first this seemed like a good thing because we would never be interested in the same man. but, it turns out, when i am with her, it is impossible to get a proper read on a contestant. i fancy myself a connoisseur of a higher level of quarry, while i consider her ideals to lean toward the bottom rung of candidates. she is the beautiful girl who has no idea she is so pretty. she digs “teddy bears” which generally translates to hairy fat dudes. while in some circles this is a perfectly legitimate fetish, i keep telling her she’s a chubby chaser & needs to elevate her game. but instead of taking my gentle advice, she keeps draggin’ me into her white trash pit of despair – unemployed, married, bearded, completely tattooed, fat, hard core, leather wearin’ motorcyclists – while i struggle to introduce her to dudes with all of their teeth. don’t get me wrong: it thrills my ego to no end to go to the bar located in what i consider to be the appalachians of jersey and be the prettiest chicks there with all of their chromosomes. of course these guys love her because they will never ever get another girl of her caliber. EVER. they struck that night’s chick lottery. now it would be fine if she kept her habit to herself, but she keeps dragging me into it. i agree to accompany her only because she lures me with the promise of driving & buying my drinks so i can drink the place interesting & try to hit on the best looking dude in the bar (and best looking is absolutely relative to your locale). furthermore, these dudes are so scary that beer goggles don’t even kick in. once again, this weekend, she dragged me to her den of decay and there was NOT ONE dude that i could even drink cute, but thanks to my old pal vodka i did get trashed enough to call over two trolls, who from a distance looked slightly more like hobbits. upon seeing them close up i was like “no way” & changed my mind. this poor dude turns to her & whimpers, “she called me over.” to which she could only shake her head & reply, “i know,” while patting him on the back. perhaps, she will now think twice before taking me there again if she has to clean up my trail of destruction or next time i just might barf in her car.
this reminded me of another incident over the weekend in which two of the women left unattended by the rest of us for 5 minutes, were approached by two unsavory characters. these geezers sit down next to them and launch into a very long winded, boring, whiny story. now, those of us that have been out there for a while no longer feel the need to be “nice” because quite frankly, we don’t feel like it anymore. so, my girls, turned to each other, and with a nod, left these loser romeos in mid-sentence which caused one of the aforementioned manatees to say to the other, “snotty bitches” loudly enough for one of said bitches to hear. she tapped him on the shoulder and said, “excuse me?” he choked & tried to say, “we weren’t talking about you.” she said, “yes you were, but that’s okay beacuse we are.” we are. they then proceeded to the ladies room. needless to say, i may now have a new hero.
oh guys, its time you knew women are just as ruthless as you are. we check out your asses & the size of your, ahem, feet. we extract key details that tell us if you can afford us and can figure out if you’re married or have a girlfriend in new york minute. women talk amongst each other & exchange every single humiliating detail. we can get your bio & rap sheet from each other faster than a google search. of course, we still may not make the best decisions armed even with the proper knowledge, but that’s a whole other issue.
i have no point in writing this other than to hear the quiet sobbing of men & to share what a classy bitch i am. i am aware i will probably never get another date now, but i can always hit on this guy at that bar…

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2
Jul 09

tales from the stalk side…

my “pal” miller if she is still lucky enough for me to call her that after this, has decided 2 things about my blog:

1. its an open request line where can request “something a little more upbeat.”
2. it is her opportunity to regale everybody with all the embarrassing stories from college she can remember about me & apparently she can remember many (curse my poor memory/binge drinking).
since, i’m a good sport and i’m happy just to have some readers, i shall honor both requests (but this means war & i will post an equally embarrassing picture of her at the end of this post).
so today, i shall share her most favorite humiliating story about me which stars a guy, his beeper number, & possible charges of stalking:
once upon a time there were four partners in crime: steiner, miller, kalish (who didn’t frequent the bars – something about not drinking underage & a really cute bf), & ness (short for “sueness,” beacuse apparently i became an adjective at one point). so, we went out on thursday night to congo craig’s as we always did (of course, only after studying copiously). not only were we stalking her current crush, dan the man, but it was her 21st birthday. so you know all kinds of trouble was a-brewin. after flirting with the bouncers, bartender, & random schmucks at the bar (carefully avoiding the local serial killers that frequented the gainesville college bars), we spotted our prey. it was dan the man & crew with a new addition: a very hot pal visiting from out of town. we siddled up to them on the dance floor, shook our groove thangs and danced til the bar closed. i sucked face with my hottie unapologetically for hours in the bar, because, hey, i am one classy chick. eventually it became clear it was time for the grand finale (we knew this because the ugly lights came on): the 3 couple hook up (one locale, but indivdually as couples, not a massive orgy. though that probably would have been fun but no way millie was sharing the prized catch). now, miss miller had been planning this hookup for 2 semesters. this was her g-damn swan song. i was beyond hot for the visitor which meant steiner had to take one for the team (yeah, guys we have to do it too). we all went back to dan’s, much fun ensued until the dawn broke and we left with random dude t-shirts as is customary college hook-up practice (by the way, i think miller had dan’s t shirt until her engagement…).
now the next week was spring break & we were all going to palm beach to stay with steiner at her house & hit the town (incidentally, that beach pix which is on my boob post is from that week). well, turns out dan & crew would be there as well. hot dude had given me his beeper number on the night of “the great hook-up,” and told me to beep him when we got to town. i was tha-rilled! the minute i was in town , i beeped the dude. i didn’t hear from him, so i began an all out beeping campaign. i am so obsessive, i didn’t realize i was stalking this dude. steiny & millie are like, “sue, that’s probably enough,” but i was having none of it because at this point i was sure the beeper “must be broken.” so instead of ruthlessly carousing the bars, as horny spring breakers are supposed to do, i spent the next several nights on high alert looking for my prey. i never did find him but we did run into dan & crew who avoided me like the crazy psycho-bitch i was. oh, good times, good times. i think it is way funny how as obsessed i was with this dude, i can’t even remember his name anymore. i guess i eventually got over the rejection and looking back, i would have run away from me too if i saw me coming after that unyielding beeping. good thing we didn’t have texting then. what an extra hot mess i would have been.
well, it’s 16 years later, once again i find myself single and heading into a long weekend. i think i am gonna look for that guy, but this time i will get his cell number so i can text him…relentlessly.
* i let millie read this post before it went live (as we in the blog biz say. ok, i just say it.) and the following was her reponse. i felt no need to edit. clearly, she has a mouth as big as mine & that is why we’re college sweethearts:

“That is hilarious….I can’t remember his name either…but steiner’s guy was “joey” and he attended UF law and they actually dated. I think steiner broke up w him cause Joey thought he was really a white man in a black’s man’s body and even though he was highly educated she couldn’t understand a word he said. I don’t think Kalish had the balls to try and get into Congo Craig’s she was probably home watching pretty woman. And furthermore…I was just trying to help a sister out by keeping her blog readership akin to perezhilton.com…..there’s absolutely no reason to get hostile and post humiliating pictures of me rocking the 80’s hair and z cavararicci (sp?) belts and fluorescent pink nail polish. Furthermore that color is making an 09 comeback and its essie’s perky pink but I have relegated it to toenail appearances only ’cause now I’m a classy broad. AND if you think I’m awake at 10pm to review emails when I’m 6 months preggers in addition to a toddler who awakes at 5:45am then you have clearly lost yer marbles. Much love….mill”
taking our love into account, i cut you a break on the picture, mill. not too bad but nice f’g necklace & i think you are wearing the aforementioned polish.. anyway, my vest clearly outshines y’alls fashion choices.

on the prowl: steiner, NESS, miller,& kalish

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Jul 09

the technology of relationships

i haven’t yet decided how i feel about karma or the “everything happens for a reason” theory or the powers that be. i am not very religious nor spiritual for that matter, but i do know that we humans are but a tiny part of this universe and that there are certainly forces greater than us at work. you only need look at the purple mountain’s majesty, amber waves of grain, the oceans, or the stars to know something bigger than us was here before us and will remain here long after we have extinguished ourselves.

as people come in and out of my life, i believe more and more that there is a karmic element to the interactions of humans. like one day, for no tangible reason, you decide to park by the other entrance to target that you never use and run into an old pal in the card section. and you think, “man, i am so happy that chance meeting happened. i have missed her tremendously.” or when you are randomly thinking about somebody and they call you or you run into them that day. sometimes i think we have “unfinished business.” perhaps you left off on bad terms with someone and never got the chance or had the balls to make it right and just like that, one day life, or facebook, plops them back into your vision you get to make amends. since i am prone to heap much of the blame on myself, i have walked around for years pouring over every detail of an ended friendship to figure out what i did to end it. these random reunions have allowed me to find closure. to actually ask the person, “why, oh, why did you dump me as your bff?” you know what? most of the time, it turns out i did nothing (ok, maybe just something mildly annoying). it was just lives going on different paths combined with me being terrible at keeping in touch with people. that is why i love technology for allowing me to become a better communicator. its true that email, fb, texting, etc., allows me to get off the hook for actually calling. and truth be told i am not the hugest phone person anymore despite my voluminous phone bills during my teen and college years. my dad absolutely despised the whole texting phenomenon citing, “people your age don’t talk anymore.” and “don’t text me.” while that is true, i actually communicate more than i ever did, with more people than i ever did, better than i ever did. emails are the modern letter and with texts i can exchange a quick snippet every day rather than have a 2 hour phone convo every 6 weeks which i quite frankly don’t want to have (serious attention span issues, people). technology has allowed me to reconnect with people with whom i never would have had that opportunity to do so. it has also allowed me to meet new people with whom i never would have been in contact in my daily life. it has actually allowed to me to feel closer than ever to friends and family. long distances seem shorter. i know i suck at listening to messages and returning phone calls, but i am uber speedy with a return text. true, i make up my own texting lexicon that others find reading akin to code-breaking. i am far wittier in writing than in real life ( which is really, really witty, because quite frankly, i am quick with the wit in person too). just ask my sister how lame-ass our communication was until we discovered texting. we could go weeks without speaking until texting came along. now we “talk” via text every day. and attention whores like me, absolutely jizz when that phone buzzes with a text. i am always excited to see what surprise awaits me when i hit open on that cute little envelope. there are some people with whom i exchange texts all day long, every day from a “gm” text to a “gn” text (here’s where you suebies [sue newbies] have to break the code) and i feel like i have company all day. i am sad when that damn phone is quiet. i am SO aware of how needy this is, but after years of a lonely marriage, texting makes me feel adored, appreciated, attended to, and no longer alone.
and for those of us who have lovingly embraced technology and all it has to offer, those of you who refuse to do the same absolutely make us nuts. refusing to text, return emails, join facebook, use twitter, or any new technology based on no viable reason, other than most likely the fear of the unknown, is like saying “i don’t want to communicate with you.” please, join the party. you are missing out. we want to find you in our lives again you are never to old to learn something new. oops, got on my soap box again. sorry.
as usual, i have digressed enormously from my original point: no matter what my belief in a greater power may be, i still feel people come and go in our lives for a reason. sometimes it’s not clear but it just makes us happy. maybe the circumstances of how that person came into your life or returned to it are less than pure. but so be it. maybe we just don’t have to question it. “it is what it is.” if losing my father taught me anything, its that life is short and our relationships are the most important thing we have or do in life. how much we affect others with the simple giving of ourselves. allowing oursleves to be loved without question and loving back are the greatest gifts i think we, humans, can give each other. sometimes the coming, means there will be an inevitable going. your time together was limited. but it doesn’t diminsh that time spent. we all make a difference to someone out there. that is a great responsibility we must oversee wisely because we touch each others lives in ways we can’t even imagine. long after you have left, someone may still be feeling your effects upon them. we all know someone that changed our own life and outlook profoundly and we must realize that from a simple daily interaction to a close intimate bond, the ways we treat others is our legacy.
so text me…please?
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*these pix of are 2 old pals that i lost touch with and can’t find online anywhere. if anyone knows of their whereabouts or you are one of them: direct them to me. I MISS THEM!!! btw, check out those rockin’ aviators with the fivehead. sa-wheet.
1.me & michelle lewis somewhere in europe 1993.
2.me & jennifer stevenson at UD 1991

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