Thursday, January 26, 2012

the alanis experiment: vol 1. swallow it down


Yesterday, I was watching Criminal Minds insane 150th episode entitled Piano Man [Tangent: A serial rapist that provides his own soundtrack for the crimes he commits. He likes to cue up some Chicago or Chris Duburgh before he gets down to business. WHO THINKS OF THESE THINGS!??!]. Anyway, in the episode, my lust object Spencer Reid's goes on an Aspergian rant about how at the age of 14, people form their own distinctive musical taste. [Tangent: This topic is also broached here. Its the NY Times- which most would deem a more reliable source than a CBS crime drama. I beg to differ.] Fourteen is the age when you reach maturity and begin to make your own choices regarding what you want to listen to.  This dialogue hit my ears at exactly the right time because earlier this week I decided I wanted to use my blog as an excuse to undergo a little musical experiment. 


Last week, while writing my blog about 90's R&B and trying to recall which particular Boyz II Men songs featured sensitive voice overs, I tripped upon this post on the interweb
I loved the idea- take a much beloved cd from your youth and listen to it for a week straight...see how it affects/relates to your life today. Falling upon this article and seeing that episode proves two things. 1. I have really really lame past times. 2. I HAD to do this project.

Album choice was a no brainer. The first album that I was butt crazy in love with [Tangent: aside from Amy Grant's Heart in Motion or the New Kids on The Block]  was Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill. I was in 7th grade when it came out, and my older sister bought it for me for Christmas. [Tangent: A little background: At age 13, I was at the height of my awkward- terminal braces, huge glasses matte gold glasses, ungroomed eyebrows and a sports bra that seemed to always be showing, proving to the world my fate (which I have come to accept) that I'd forever have the body of 12 year old boy.] 

...oh yeah...I was a little pudgy...and the Disney hat isn't helping.
I wasn't alone; 'tis a safe bet that most girls in my age bracket had a definite Alanis phase. Although, at the time, I wasn't 100% on what "go down on you in a theater" referred to, and thus couldn't relate- the angst, I was definitely feeling. I would sit by my tiny boom box and listen to tracks 1-13 and then impatiently fast forward for 7 minutes to reach the secret a Capella song where she broke into her ex's home and put on his clothes. [Tangent: I remember my best friend's older brother took her to see Bush and Alanis in concert at the height of their popularity; I am certain I grilled her for all the details, because I was still years away from my first concert...a late bloomer in every aspect of the term.] Oh her glamorous Canadian life! I wanted to be her.


At the time my favorite songs were Ironic and Hand in my Pocket-  a classic 14 year old move to only truly care about the hit singles. I was wondering if I would still love these songs as much as I once did and how my perceptions/tastes have changed. What do they sound like to Kimmie 2012?  Would somehow her perma-angst rub off on me? Would I become more untrusting of men?

Hopefully all these questions will be answered in the next couple blogs. At this point, after roughly 25 listens, I am finding the jagged little pill hard to swallow.


to be continued...

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

the handicapped stall revisited



I love getting text and/or FB messages from my friend, Turin, because they are generally out of total left field and laced with brilliance. A couple nights, out of the blue, he sent me the following picture and message [Tangent: In fact, I'll wager many of the texts featured in this post were from his cellular phone] :
Kimmie-
Can this be added to your  "get the f#*k out of my stall" post???

I know you are questioning why this is laced with brilliance, but it is something that I have stated before in this blog: When people poop in public- they nearly ALWAYS opt for the handicapped stall. The sociological question remained: WHY!?!?! I feel like its something that deserves delving into again. [Tangent: The issue not the doodie, itself. Stop being gross, readers.]

What ensued was a ridiculous discussion between me and my good friend, Turin. He had always seen this "pooping in the handicapped stall" as something people did from a place of insensitivity, but this meme changed his perspective:
"I figured it out- people use the handicap stall for comfort, its the cadillac of toilets... all this time i felt it came from selfish hating ways...I'll be damned. it's about status of using the thrown room. I didn't realize til this hit me in the face."
I, myself, had not seen it through that exact set of eyes before. Really? A status symbol? My silly mind assumed people just delegated the big stall as the crapper in a thoughtless (albeit not malicious) effort to get more airspace to get one's poop on. [Tangent: Because...lets be honest- you non handicappeds rarely opt to use that stall unless you are gonna be there for a while. And don't say this isn't "a thing" that happens in offices and shopping malls everyday. A google image search tells me otherwise: ]



Turin made me realize that we wheeled ones are slightly elitist. I mean we do get the choice parking and what he referred to as the Cadillac of toilets. Why wouldn't people want the exclusive treat of pooping first class after a hard day at work? There's so much leg room! Since "public pooping" is not an everyday event- maybe it should be the VIP room to use. 

I understand slightly more now, and theoretically I should feel feel slightly honored, but I don't. When you go in there to stink bomb, I know you are trying to offend the lowest common denominator...but because denominator is moi- I have to take issue [Tangent: Because I am the one that has to McGuyver my summer scarf into a gas mask so not to make it the "vomit stall."]. Although now slightly more compassionate- I still am very opposed to this epidemic.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

keepin' it classy with pearls

All hail Jackie O, classy lady extraordinaire, who would probably never read my trashy blog. I imagine she would be too busy shopping for pillbox hats or turning the other cheek to her hubby's infidelities. You know how you know she exudes class? the pearl necklace. [Tangent: Heads out of gutters. Please take my word I am using the conventional definition.]

Today, while being sucked headlong into a Criminal Minds marathon- I realized that pearls are being exploited in a whole new way. Watch this carefully, and see if you find it strange:




Yes, those are unsexy glorified sports bras being merchandised with assorted pearl necklaces. What marketing genius came up with this idea?

I am guessing it was this woman. Look at that smug grin...it just screams, "I made this look not orthopedic by adding the most random accessory possible." [Tangent: Correction: A dickie or some oversized novelty sunglasses would have been way stranger.]

Sunday, January 22, 2012

R&B today- straight buggin'

this will make sense in a minute.
 Sometimes I wish I had an internal video recorder that could put my dreams in a digital format to watch at a later time. Usually as I rub the sleep cracklins out of my eyes, all I can recall are strange bits and pieces. The other day I awoke with the following song (not heard in about 10 years) in my head:



I sang it all morning...as I brushed my teeth...as I drove to work...as I refilled my coffee mug with breakroom coffee. "Playas gon' play and hatas are gon' hate....ballas are gon' ball....shotcallas are gon' call...but that ain't got nothin' to do...with me and you but that's the way it is." [Tangent: But lets call a spade a spade- I am INSANELY white (and am not 100% what a shotcalla is) so I probably didn't sound so cool singing "Players are going to play" etc.]  So obviously, when I got settled at my desk, the operative thing to do was to make a new station on my Pandora radio - "Playas Gon' Play" radio.  [Tangent: My musical taste is all over the board and sometimes questionable, as evidenced by my Pandora station list. To be fair, the Buble and Halloween Party were for work...but the Nelly station is all my doing.]


While listening to the parade of R&B hits from my high school and early college years,  I made a lot of observations, which I scribbled on a giant post-it note throughout the workday. 

yeah...it definitely says, "how do I know all the words to Willa Ford's I Wanna be Bad"

Although it wasn't that long ago that these songs were popular (the last 10-15 years), I felt there were a lot things that seemed ancient. They were the days before DVR, these were the days of AIM and TRL. This is my version of "liveblogging" my experience in nostalgia while grooving to "Playas Gon' Play" Pandora.

What happened to the phrase buggin? 


No seriously....do people still use this term or do they just say "trippin'" now. [Tangent: Do people still say trippin? God...I am so outta touch with the kids.] Back in the day, buggin' was "the term." In fact, it gave way to John Leguizamo's House of Buggin [Tangent: I had to google that to make sure I wasn't making it up.] and my personal favorite Destiny's Child jam- Bug-a-boo

R.I.P pager references
I never realized how many references to pagers were made in popular music 10-15 years ago! I mean over and over again, my ears were harangued with allusions to paging and beepers. [Tangent: Pagers used to be a really big deal, and not just to medical professionals. Many of my friends got pagers when they turned 16. It was like a rite of passage- a trip to Beepers+ so you could have something to adorn the front pocket of your Tommy overalls.] Today these lyrics just don't have the same relevance they had when I was in high school:
Beep me 911
Or call me on my cell phone
I'll call you back
To see what you gon' tell me
You don't wanna date
No if's ands or waits
It's over babe
Also, my memory had completely fuzzed out the fleeting popularity of 2-way pagers as a form of communication, until I heard my Pandora station play a little gem of a ditty called Bump Bump Bump by B2K. [Tangent: Classy!]

Puff Daddy Saturation

Hey remember when J. Lo was being harassed for being vaguely racist and was dating Puff Daddy [ne Diddy....P. Diddy...Diddy Dirty Money...or whatever the hell he has deemed himself as of late] and Puff Daddy guested or produced nearly every song that was on the radio. I can't believe I am saying this, but I miss those days.

Sensitive Voiceovers 
Talking during songs is always one of my guilty pleasures. Although one of my favorites comes courtesy of Will Smith's son in the classic, Just the Two of Us [Tangent: "Now dad, this is a very sensitive subject...]- you cannot deny that sensitive voice overs are synonymous with the arbiters of syncronized sweater vests (and chronic ignorers of spelling/grammar) Boyz II Men:




Good Song from an Odd Soundtrack


Yep, that's The Rugrats movie getting put to music by the masterminds behind No Diggity. At the time, the idea that a Nickelodeon movie was spawning a radio hit didn't seem weird, but today it makes me giggle uncontrollably. When I was a freshman in high school, all my friends had a copy of the Space Jam soundtrack. Sure it was a movie starring Michael Jordon and Bugs Bunny playing some galactic basketball to free themselves from aliens, but it gave way to a metric shit ton of hits. [Tangent: I can only imagine many an ardent middle school declaration of adoration was made to the tune of "For you I will..." by Monica.]  Today, things are different. Soundtracks to family movies aren't the hit makers they once were. It would seem inconceivable that the Doctor Doolittle soundtrack was the reason I became familiar with Timbaland...which brings me to:


Baby cries in song...where did they go? 

I kinda miss them...and kinda wish Aaliyah was still alive to bring them back.




Truly, you don't know what ya got till its gone. Rest in peace, 90's/early 00's- you will be missed...at least by me.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

leave it to bieber

the most ridiculous picture ever.

Disclaimer/Pre-emptive explaination: Even though this is now my second Justin Bieber-centric blog post [Tangent: The first indirect Bieber references can be seen here.], I wouldn't consider myself a fan, per say. Do I have any of his music on my ipod? No. Can I name more than 2 of his songs? No. Did I voluntarily Netflix and then sit through Never Say Never: The Justin Bieber Story today. Absolutely. [Tangent: Netflix Instant Queue makes it very easy to make impulsively frivolous viewing choices, so I should really only be half to blame.]



After hearing a lot of positive reviews and seeing posts on Facebook from friends with credible taste [Tangent: Not 12 year old girls] posting things like:

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but the Justin Bieber movie was actually kinda good." 

or

"Why am I crying at Never Say Never?" 

Realizing these aren't exactly claims for Oscar contention [Tangent: I don't think any movie that has ended in a 3 minute interactive karaoke of "Baby" in 3 dimension (and several languages) has ever been in the running.], I'm a curious gal and I needed some background entertainment, so thought, "why not? It's free." As I added it to my instant queue, I envisioned it as something trainwrecky and terrible that would fuel my distaste for some current popular music, but damned if the whole 3-D fiasco didn't make me fall in love with the little lovely locked hooligan.

Breaking News: Justin Bieber is actually really a nice young man who is somewhat of a musical savant. [Tangent: He is prolific in at least 3 instruments, and was keeping perfect rhythm when he was 2. Meanwhile, at that age, I was likely eating sandbox sand and wetting myself on the regular.] Trust me, it pains me to defend him, but now I feel its my civic duty to do so. Lets get this straight- I don't have "Bieber fever" and am not "a be-lieber" [Tangent: I am a grown woman and feel that kind of dedication to a 17 year old boy is unsettling from someone able to imbibe alcohol legally.], but I am very impressed at his level of normality and talent. It was definitely something I didn't expect. In fact, maybe me and the Biebs aren't so different...
We both really like purple. 
 I, too,  appreciate a good hoodie.
Both Justin and I will always look 12. 

We both sported similar hairstyles in recent years:

Don't get me wrong, I still am not exactly a big fan of his music, [Tangent: It's one of those situations where I am glad he has fame, because he deserves it...but I wish he could have had that fame farther down the line and thus would be able to take it seriously. Very few people can pull a Mandy Moore and somehow inexplicably go from vapid teen pop star to having some sort of cred. When did that happen exactly anyway?], but I will hereby stick up for him when I hear Bieber bashing [Tangent: Or at least not participate as eagerly.]. Don't mistake this for me starting to make heart hands in every photo taken of me or dabbing the Bieber fragrance on my pulse points. 

now I know who is responsible for this fad, and I'm not happy about it.


Tuesday, January 17, 2012

i can haz cheezburger crotch?!?


Today, while sitting in a chilly car waiting for its battery to be installed in front of some businesses that I am 99% positive were fronts for Meth cookeries [Tangent: I started rewatching Breaking Bad from the beginning this week, so suddenly I'm a badass.], I started reaching the ends of the Internet. After reorganizing my Gmail, checking my facebook, making moves on several games of Words With Friends and then escaping the timesuck that is Pinterest, I decided to check my blog stats for the day. [Tangent: I realize technically that I covered search terms/blog stats yesterday, but it is probably the thing that makes my blog so darn rewarding.] One need look no further than this to see why...



What ensued was the following textchange with my ridiculous friend and fellow blogger, Carri:

Me: New winning search term: CHEESEBURGER CROTCH!

Carri: OMG! I just laughed so hard. What is cheeseburger crotch!?!?

Me: No Clue. I feel like I must know.

I assumed this quest would be completely fruitless. I would pull up something scary and porny or some terrible lolcatz pun like this:

...but this was not at all the case. I just had to type "cheeseburger crotch" into google and it was as if the Internet suddenly oppened up this whole new wing of unnecessary information.

*my favorite is that I can buy a "cheeseburger crotch" mug
Carri's response: Dude, It's on Freakin' WEBMD!!!

Considering I made a 97% in high school Anatomy, I am astonished that something of this bizarre magnitude had somehow flown under my radar. [Tangent: Not to mention the fact that I have a disgusting vocabulary.] Maybe I'm so shocked because I'm not a mom/reader of maternity blogs or maybe its because I have never thought to put the words "cheeseburger" and "crotch" together in a sentence. 

You may ask how how that at all pertained to something I wrote about, and happily I've wondered for you. After investigating- I am more clueless than ever...

So Carrot Top is the missing link? Isn't that always the case.

RIGHT ON, Internet! I learned something completely unnecessary today, and as my wise military friend Joe taught me, knowing is half the battle.

Monday, January 16, 2012

really, alexa?


Periodically, I get an itch in my britch and feel the need to learn about/expand the reach of this little puppy and pony show that I call a blog. [Tangent: Setting out to do an entire blog overhaul last week became a little daunting, I actually only really changed the font. It's now Georgia instead of Ariel. I know all of you are still adjusting to this HUGE groundbreaking difference. Don't the serifs give me more journalistic integrity? No? Oh well.] This weekend, I reached an exciting new milestone- I crossed the threshhold of having 100 people like That Girl In the Wheelchair on ye olde Facebook. [Tangent: I gathered 30 new "likes" in just the last 4 days, and more than half of those were complete strangers.] Its like I suddenly feel all the annoyances techniques I learned about in 4.5 years studying advertising are starting to become applicable. Thanks education! You da' best!

For some reason, I also checked out my ranking on alexa.com and learned that my ranking among websites is 10,826,331th. Well, that's certainly...um...something. The rest of the website is a bunch of gobbletygook that my feeble mind can't process. The only real takeaway was this:

Yep! That's right, when people are questioning Barrack's bladder habits, they apparently find my blog helpful in finding answers. What an esteemed position to be in. It could be worse, they could be the people who have entered in the following recently popular search terms:

  • sharks in love with humans
  • flavored meth
  • Bowel girl
  • Jesus coming out of the sea glitter graphics
  • chainsaw chimp
  • Cher's body
  • Bacon clothes

Sunday, January 15, 2012

I'll take the physical challenge.


Last month, while attending a Christmas get together with my gimp squad [Tangent: I have written about this group of friends here...but now the gimp squad has widened to accept other mutal non-gimpy friends and significant others. We have coffee mugs and meetings. Trust- its legit...and completely ridiculous.], somehow I got to reminiscing about an episode of Family Double Dare I saw as a child that featured a contestant in a wheelchair. [Tangent: My life as a youth was at least 97% Nickelodeon, especially the game shows....Nick Arcade, GUTS, Wild & Crazy Kids, Legends of the Hidden Temple and even Finder's Keepers, which me and my sister used to play as a tragically lame home game. You're quite welcome for posting links to their youtube clips. May you fall through the nostalgia portal as I did earlier this evening.] Let that steep in your brain a moment: a young person with no use of their lower extremities getting slimed and awkwardly trying to fill a beaker on her head with green goop. I thought I had made up this episode, so I took to the Internet to make sure it wasn't a part of some weird Marc Summers dream sequence that lives in my mind. Eureka! It is real....I found it. 




I don't mean to say that wheelchair people can't do everything non wheelchair people can do. Wait, no...that's exactly what I'm saying. Sometimes, there are things that are just not gonna happen. Example: I will never win the Guiness world record for standing on one foot the longest. I have accepted this reality and am at peace with it. Sometimes, there are just limitations or adaptations have to be made or else it just kind of becomes a spectacle and hard to watch. Thankfully the good producers at Double Dare put the sedentary young girl in some of the more docile stops on the obstacle course [Tangent: I feel like throwing her down the glop covered mouth slide and then watching her scramble around to fetch the flag and get back in her chair would be hard to watch and in slightly poor taste. Good judgement call, DD team.] But even as I watched this clip, I thought, "hmmm...she's gonna pull the cord on that blimp and the flag is gonna land on the ground. What are the chances it will land on her lap. There is NO way they will get this done in the time limit." And...I was right, like flustered insects, the never before seen stage managers and spotters skittered out to help the young girl make it through to win at least half of the available prizes.

[Tangent: My sister also noticed that the prizes were appropriate. A karaoke machine and board games seems more suitable than a Huffy Bike and  a pogo ball...just saying. At MDA summer camp one year, I remember they had jump ropes in the camp store. One of my friends noticed commenting, "isn't that kind of a cruel joke to sell a jump rope at a camp for kids with disabilities?"]


I don't mean to be a neighsayer, I just don't know if Double Dare is the venue to start showing that people who are different can do anything....because sometimes that's just not always true. We can do most things...just maybe not things that involve obstacles and a 60 second time limit. I wish I could have found the whole episode on youtube to see if there were any heartwarming puns made about "accepting the physical challenge."  Since there wasn't, I'll make one - I accept the physical challenge everyday, where's my Casio keyboard?

Friday, January 13, 2012

luck of the polish.


As evidenced by the above date stamp and meme, today is the much dreaded Friday the 13th. [Tangent: My track record with the "holiday" is less than stellar. I was reminded the other day when I went to go visit one of my former Medical ICU nurses at Vanderbilt that Friday August 13, 2010- I was taken off the ventilator and then reintubated. I also learned that that near miss intubation went down in history there. Wow. I'm famous...and its for being hard to stick a tube down my throat. That's something I guess.] Because history has taught me so, I am trying not to tempt fate today, although fate is so far not being my bestie.

Perhaps I am not alone in this- but even if I am completely exhausted- if I know I HAVE to wake up for something, I can't sleep. I knew I had to be in Nashville by 8:45 on potentially icy roads for a doctor's appointment, so of course I couldn't get to sleep. So after a lot of sleepless repositioning and late night moves on Words With Friends, I boarded the train to sleepytown about 1:30 AM. Upon waking this morning, I found the following under my pillow:

This may look like a busted rubber band to some, which it is, but its the end of an era. [Tangent: Prepare to judge me by the following story, but I find it endearing and pretty evocative of the relationship I have with my ginger.] Back in July, my boyfriend and I were Targetting and trolling the $1 aisle, a past time we both enjoy a little too much, and came across the following: 


Of course, there is no question- these Garbage Pail Kids silly bandz needed to be bought BY US. I adopted the neon green fart band and Jamie of course took the poop band [Tangent: Even though we were both slightly perturbed by the silly bandz depiction of poop. It kinda looked more like chocolate soft serve ice cream. No one poops like that! But, I digress.] These juvenile pieces of elastic were a sweet, albeit twisted, depiction of commitment to one another, and today I broke mine.

RIP 
fart band 
Aug 2011-Jan 2012

Thankfully, my fella misplaced his band a couple months back, [Tangent: This lead to a lot of joking that he was clearly cheating on me.] so I don't feel as bad about breaking it in my thrashing sleeplessness. 

This string of unfortunate events continued when I went out to my car to head out to the doctor in subarctic weather. As I repeatedly attempted to get my car to start, I was greeted by screeching and red lights flashing informing me simply that my car battery was dead. [Tangent: My car, not unlike myself is half robot and seriously lets it be known when it is malfunctioning.  I halfway expect it to start saying, "DANGER, WILL ROBINSON, DANGER!"]
So because my car battery and my fart band have already bitten the dust, and its not even lunch time- I think I will hide under the covers today. I don't want my friend, fate, to get any ideas [Tangent: Especially given that the news just informed me that this year, Friday the 13th makes three appearances....all 13 weeks apart.]. To thwart it, I am pulling out the big guns- reverse psychology. Not only is it Friday the 13th- but I've decided that it's gonna be opposite day! 


Thursday, January 12, 2012

when inspiration isn't a dirty word.


Tonight I had intended to write a generic angry blog about how much snow is a thorn in my side, and how the childhood excitement over flurries have disintegrated into loathing as it disrupts my plans as an adult. I was paragraphs into my ramblings when once again, my friend Samantha blasted my dark cynicism like an overwhelming torpedo of sunshine. When I tabbed over mid blog, I noticed she had this posted on her Facebook.



 Suddenly I was was jettisoned out of the funk that was permeating my being and I was overwhelmed with "awwwwwww!"

Here is the down low on my friend Sam, who inspires me daily, even though I don't get to see her quite often as we both would like. [Tangent: Let it be known that ever since a boy I had a crush on told me that I was an inspiration when I wrote him a undoubtedly awkward declaration of love letter- I hate the word inspiration. Although this was over 10 years ago, to me its demeaning and disgusting and should be 4 letters. Unfortunately, there is no other word to better surmise what Sammy is to me.] Samantha and I first met when we were in the same fifth grade class. I envied her freckles and blossom hats, and I can only assume she envied my back brace and collection of Looney Toons t-shirts. [Tangent: I mean, who wouldn't?] However, as is the case with most prepubescent girls, I hated her...and she hated me. This hatred leaked over to middle school where mean notes and evil glares were exchanged in the hallways and Survivor-like alliances were made. [Tangent: I am not 100% why this fight started, but it was probably ridiculous...like we had the same Lisa Frank Trapper Keeper or she somehow sabotaged my eraser collection.] 

At some point, at the end of middle school/beginning of high school- we realized the issue we were fighting over was null and void, and that we were really just about the same person in a lot of ways- and that friendship has continued 15+ years later. She was the first of my friends to get married (to her high school sweetheart no less, who she started dating at 14 when they went to the Sadie Hawkins dance together.) [Tangent: I am usually super cynical about marriages at a young age (are you spotting a trend?) but if you saw her and Aaron together, you would understand that these soulmates just found each other way ahead of the rest of us. How lucky of them to get the extra time. So, in this particular case I endorse Sammy being a child bride. They are the exception to my rule.] She was the first of my friends to have a baby (the adorable, Eli, shown below). And now, she is the first in my immediate friend circle to do something else that I one day aspire to do, Samantha and her family are adopting a baby this year...from Uganda. 

 
Sammy first started her love affair with the African continent, Uganda in particular, after doing some mission work last year with Sweet Sleep , which provides bedding and mosquito netting to babies with AIDS [Tangent: I know! Now you see why she deserves the much detested "I"word.] I fully supported her venture, mostly because I hoped my friend would find an adorable orphaned black baby and bring him/her home to me in her duffel bag, so I could raise him/her as my own. [SPOILER ALERT: Most people would likely guess that baby didn't come from my lady parts. She never brought one home. And, I'm still bitter.]
sammy making new friends.

While over there do-gooding, while I was likely watching a Criminal Minds marathon, Samantha was starting to realize that she, too, wanted to help those sweet babies further. In addition to giving them a bed and a net, she wanted to give one of them a forever home; she wanted to make one her son or daughter. She told me about it several months ago, before she told the grand majority of folks, maybe because she knows I have a huge soft spot for adoption and would likely be almost as excited as she was.

At this point, there is nothing that I wouldn't do to help Sam adopt this baby. In talking to her a couple weeks ago, I grilled her about the process and learned a lot. [Example: Did you know that if you adopt a girl, the agency will send you to hair classes so you know how to style black hair properly?!? That impresses me to no end.] I also learned that the overseas adoption process, aside from being heart wrenching and outlined in red tape, is crazy pricey. Social workers, adoption agencies and trips to Africa are all expensive things individually. Added together- these things are overwhelming to a young family. 

Because I love her, and still feel bad about those mean notes we exchanged in 7th grade, I wanted to take this opportunity to tell my dear friend, who is actually about 6 months younger than I am, that I want to be just like her when I grow up. That sweet baby is going to be the luckiest child in the world.


To help my friend in her journey, you can do one of the following:

Click the "email me" link on the side of this page and I will send you info on how you can order one of the pens crafted by her husband, Aaron, for $25.

OR

Mail a check with a “Sapp Family Adoption” note added to (<<--that aspect is crucial) to:
Brentwood Baptist Church
Rock Bridge Foundation
Attn: Bryce Fowler
7777 Concord Rd.
Brentwood, TN 37027
 OR

click this link:  to donate any amount you can by clicking HERE. [Tangent: I don't mean to get all Sally Strothers on you readers, but consider how much you spend on dumb things everyday, now think of how that money could buy a child....wait, that sounded bad...you know what I mean.] or by visiting her blog HERE.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

flame on.

Disclaimer: I am a foul human being who sometimes gets a kick out of really odd things. [Tangent: This should not be newsworthy...it should be common knowledge.] However, if you are not a foul person or have a weak gag reflex, maybe this particular blog, won't be your thing. Possibly should go check this out instead. It's decidedly more pleasant.



On Friday, I went by my boss's office to tell her to have a nice weekend [Tangent: Not because I'm an asskisser, but because I actually really like my boss...and I'm not just saying this because she reads my blogs.] As I was rolling out, she reached in her drawer and said, "oh, I know you said you wanted to try these and I've been meaning to bring them to you for weeks." My eyes lit up like a Lite Brite, Diane had brought me homemade ear candles.

The term "excited" was definitely an understatement. [Tangent: Previously, I had assumed the only way to attain these magical ear candles was to build a time machine, go back to the age of 8 when I was at my peak of adorability and exploit my disability to obtain some make-a-wish ear candling (maybe from Jonathan Knight of the NKOTB)...either that or maybe get in my car and drive to Whole Foods. Both of those seemed like a lot of work.] The delightfully disgusting process is something I have wanted to try since I learned of their existence [Tangent: I even wrote about the aspiration here.].

After spending all day yesterday at the hospital with my dad, who is recovering from a big surgery, I noticed my sinuses and ears were aching like crazy- I knew the time was nigh to relax, spark up some ear candles and get to draining out that goo. Step one: Do some interweb research so I can be educated in the procedure.

After consulting some "word is bond" sites like wikipedia, I learned the whole process and its validity is a bit in question. Some think it does more harm than good, while others swear by it. I also learned the correct means for insertion (tee-hee) and removal by this youtube tutorial, which may be one of he most unintentionally funny things I have ever seen. [Tangent: As my mom said, "Well, hell, I know how to fill a bowl with water.]



The ridiculous video above also led me  to this terribly disgusting gem which is made amazing by the youtuber's choice of musical accompaniment. Really?!??! Plain White Tees? [Tangent: to view it, click here. I would have embedded it into the blog, but didn't want to expose everyone to the suggested videos like "world's largest zit" Truly, don't click through if you have eaten anything combustible today. K? Thanks.]

After getting stoked up and ready to flame, my ear candler/mother/registered nurse and I assembled the needed items: a bowl of water, the ear candles, scissors, a coffee filter (because we were out of paper plates. womp. womp.), am industrial grade grill lighter, some garlic/goldenseed oil  and a towel. I was ready and feeling flame retardant.

I recruited my brother, who was on the other couch words with friends-ing to photo document. This is the before.

This flame was much more intense than the one on the video...likely because these were "homemade"

at this point, my face started getting hot and I decided I wanted to hang to keep my eyebrows.

All the while this living room freak show was taking place, the garlic oil dropped in my ear was crackling and warming and feeling just delightful [Tangent: As well as filling my nostrils with the deceiving aroma of Texas toast.] I'm not sure that I was cured, but I will say that my ears felt soothed afterward and I got a bunch of ick stuff out [Tangent: To me, that was the most exciting part of the whole shindig. It was like Puppy Surprise! How much wax was their inside?]



That's a lot of gross! To be fair, and to make me seem like less of a disgusting human specimen, most web sites revealed that a lot of the residue collected is, in fact, melted paraffin, and not earwax. However, it is my deplorable hope that at least a little of that funk found inside the cone has been there for decades, and now I am free of it. I am healed. I will celebrate through song/interpretive dance:

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

bravo, sundance...bravo.

I remember when I first started watching cable television [Tangent: Outside the scope of Nickelodeon and MTV] and started watching Bravo. At the time, Bravo was committed to the arts and showing programs like Inside the Actor's Studio or movies that made me feel pretentious and cultured. Today the channel just makes me feel a little ashamed and indulgent, while being afraid for humanity. Because of genius Andy Cohen, Bravo has become infested with things that despite being completely addictive, stray from their mission statement, unless their mission statement was deluding several of the more ridiculous Real Housewives into thinking they should start a recording career of gay club anthems.[Tangent: I still say Countess Luann's is my favorite, but Kim's classic "Tardy for the Party" easily takes second place.]




Because I have seen each episode of Real Housewives, Millionaire Matchmaker and Top Chef [Tangent: So many times, in fact, that I can can match the obnoxious chunky jewelry worn by the housewife with the episode], I have decided to broaden my scope to other potentially enlightening networks like Sundance.  It was on this network which touts itself as "the best in independent film" that I unexpectedly found the wet dream for trashy reality TV enthusiasts, Girls Who Like Boys Who like Boys: Nashville.  

For years, I have been angry at producers of The Real World for never doing a season in Nashvegas. [Tangent:Why relegate that kind of programming to CMT!?!? Anyway, RW has done New York a couple times and LA a couple times, they need to branch out...and not abroad either. Shouldn't trashy television be made in America? I'm pretty sure that's the kind of virtue that old George Washington built this nation on. I love the idea that I may run into these D list celebs while I am out getting coffee or that I will be able to see people I know in the background of a drunken bar scene.] Then when the Real Housewives franchises blew outta control, I thought, "surely Bravo will tap the entitled soccer moms of Green Hills, Belle Meade or Brentwood, making my dream of Real Housewives: Nashville a reality...especially given that God-awful season in Miami."

This never happened, so thank heavens Sundance is now using my fair hometown as a petri dish for exploring the untapped territory of gay bestie-hood [Tangent: A topic I am acquainted with.] It makes me giddy to see places I am familiar being the backdrop for a show...if for nothing else so I can say things like, "Hey, I know that waiter!"
or...."Hey that's I Dream of Weenie! It's right down the street from my boyfriend...I've totally eaten hot dogs there!"

or..."Hey, that's outside Fido! I totally get coffee there sometimes and hipster watch."
So, as much as part of me is disappointed that there is no sacred space for preserving the arts, I am stoked Nashville is getting its turn for D-List infamy.

Sunday, January 1, 2012

big blog


Its January 1st...and if you know anything about me, you know I am a creature of habit so I am eerily doing exactly what I did last January 1st- sitting around in sweats, watching a Twilight Zone marathon on TV. [Tangent: I think that's what the cool kids refer to as "meta"...maybe...I don't know. I'm probably misusing that term Alanis Morissette style.] Anyway- the point of this is....sometimes comfort can be found in familiarity, but there's always the opportunity to do things a little differently, which brings me around to Big. [Tangent: Do not all roads lead to Tom Hanks? No? Well, in my mind/town they do.]

The other night, despite being exhausted by a napless work week [Tangent: I am a toddler and need my naps.] and leftover holiday lathargia, I made the conscious effort to stay up and watch Big on TBS at 1 AM. Have I seen it before? Yes...about a half million times. Have I seen it in the last 5 years? No. Is it still something I have somewhat committed to memory and reference regularly? ABSOLUTELY! [Tangent: In fact, sometimes I even have difficulty eating Triscuits without in my head or out loud singing "I had a girlfriend...a triscuit. She said, 'a triscuit....a biscuit.' Ice cream soda pop...vanilla on the top..." Truly, its a sickness.]

As the movie started to unroll in front of me, I began to realize that I can't watch and accept movies the same as I could when I was a child. The naivete is gone and my mind reels and I start thinking about reality too much. Ex: Elizabeth Perkin's character didn't seem that disturbed that she had basically made out with a thirteen year old boy for the last third of the film. She was upset, but not as grossed out as I believe she should have been. That's some Mary Kay Lateurneau shit. I would expect a Crying Game shower scene, where you scrub off the shame of your indiscretions, not a shrug and hug.

Because I had downloaded some new notepad app on my droid, I decided I would take some observational notes on the movie Big as I fought the inclination to sleep. [Tangent: Apparently I am suddenly too high tech for jotting blog ideas on the backs of bank statements in highlighter marker. Don't misunderstand- I'm still trashy.]  Here were my notes:


Josh's "bachelor pad" [Tangent: Which as a child I thought was the coolest loft ever and completely realistic place to live in NYC] has forever influenced how I envision how a guy's bachelor pad should be. I remember when my friend Chad got a divorce and was moving into his first place by himself, I asked him repeatedly if it had such features as: a Pepsi machine, a trampoline, assorted arcade games and bunk beds.


This brings me to item two: Bunk Beds. Do kids still get jacked up at the idea of having bunk beds? In my youth- they were super exciting. I even knew a lot of only children that would have traded anything for a bunk bed, but usually their parents didn't love them enough. But, do kids today give a shit? I would guess children are too spoiled with Ipods and Wiis and Rock Star Elmos; two beds stacked atop each other just kind of lose their prestige.


How did he score the job at this company? Was there any sort of background check? Even to get a shitty retail job, a person needs references and like 8 forms of identification- these rules clearly don't apply to Josh Baskin. This is the big leagues- a huge toy company, MacMillan Toys, that develops robots that transform into buildings and choose your own adventure comic books; they should keep better tabs on their job applicants, especially if they seem slightly underdeveloped mentally. [Tangent: Another observation: That choose your own adventure comic book seemed about a decade ahead of its time.]

Also, on my notepad, I typed "Platex bra" because of the scene where molester Elizabeth Perkins is putting the swerve on Joshy in adult form and lets him cop a feel, it was all I could look at.  I remember thinking this was super risque as a child, but today all I can think about is how unflattering 80's undergarments were. Bras have definitely come a long way in 20 years. [Tangent: Also, everytime they have a kissing scene, I secretly wanted him to say "she tasted like cigarettes." It would be the ultimate Forrest Gump crossover. ]

At the fancy work party, when he wears the amazing white Liberace tux and eats baby corn ridiculously, [Tangent: When I eat Chinese takeout, I always have to eat at least one baby corn like this...or at least contemplate it.] he gets disgusted by eating caviar and decides a milkshake will cure him. As a child, this seemed like a logical course of action, but as an adult the mixture of fish roe and dairy makes me dry heave. 
 
Last but certainly not least, I think John Lovitz should play the pervy coworker/friend in every movie [Tangent: If Jason Alexander isn't available.]

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