Rants


I don’t usually watch things that I know will upset me.  I don’t watch sick dogs, crying grown men, or Republican National Conventions.  Keeping up with the K-normal, I didn’t watch the RNC this year.  MSN.com told me about the “Clint & The Chair” show and NYTimes.com told me the rest (damn liberal gotchya media).  I knew what they were going to say and I knew that I’d disagree with it.

The past couple nights I did watch the DNC because I watch what makes me feel comfortable.  I’m pretty certain I’m not the only person who does this, and if I am, then where the hell is my certificate??  Since I’m not an Independent and pretty much have my election mind made up I don’t need Mitt, Michelle, and the Gang to convince me to join their crews.  With nothing to compare it to, which never stops me from forming a full opinion about everything, I found that where the Dems won was humor…humor that worked and didn’t scare small children.

This is not to say that we’re all morons and all we can understand is a good yuck yuck.  Humor brings people from all backgrounds together.  Let’s face it…most of us are pretty dense and/or uninformed when it comes to politics.  Most of the time if I get two minutes of CNN and I’m looking for a bat with which to smack my head…hard. But when someone speaks to me like they are a real person and I am a real person then maybe, just maybe, and in the case of the DNC, definitely, I can understand and even form opinions about politics.

What certain groups don’t get that other certain groups do is that we have to work together which means we have to share information.  We can’t create policies that ignore the majority and speak in ways that keep others out. That’s what mean cheerleaders do…yup…I said it…the RNC is the mean cheerleader and Bill & B-Rack are the smart model UN kids who will become rich enough to buy and sell them.

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The bathroom is a sacred space, agreed?  We all know what goes on in there but we don’t talk about it.  It’s like a brothel, and like the goings on of a brothel, if what goes on is discussed in public we all get a little antsy in our pantsy.  Apparently many out there don’t share my feelings because I’m constantly getting roped into conversation as I step into the stall.  This is MY space and MY time.  My “how are you” question was hypothetical and drawn from politeness.

I know you dudes do some of your beeswax out in the open, but I was under the impression that once the fly goes down the invisible door goes up.

Also, please don’t stroll into the stall next to me and heave out a sigh of relief, exhaustion, frustration, or giddyness.  If any of those emotions have to do with what you’re doing right now, I don’t want to know about it…and I won’t ask!

Am I the only one who feels this way?  Am I the prude because I think that talking and whatever happens behind a bathroom stall door just don’t mix?

seriously considering wearing this whenever i use the facilities at work

Me and the dude figured we’d use today, a lovely Saturday, to hunt for an apartment.  It did not go well.  Places were either closed, did not have one bedroom apartments as their websites specified (though with the proper wig I could maybe pass for a 55 yr old), and previously set up appointments were postponed.  I know this is dumb, but with this day of failure came gross feelings of self-deprication and doubt.  Is this ever going to finally happen?  Are we too stupid to look for the right places?  I’d just like somewhere between a stinking rat hole where gang members chillax, and my parents house.  Is this so difficult???

I know these are dumb thoughts and as dumb thoughts often do, they will pass.  But after a day of failure, it’s difficult to be peppy and sunshiney and such.  I could’ve turned to alcohol after the afternoon we had, but I did not.  I turned to the high road.  I turned to mozzarella, basil, and tomato on foccacia bread, and I have to say…it helped a little.  The ice cream I plan to devour later tonight will also be of great and welcome assistance.

Have you had a shit-tastical apartment hunting experience?  Any tips for this novice?

When one is in a long-distance relationship, one must sometimes simply DEAL with stuff.  Not everything will work out the way you want it to.  Sometimes, Wednesday night sucks and Thursday night sucks and Monday morning definitely sucks.  Sometimes…it’s not so bad.  I’m apprehensive at giving unsolicited advise to people who are starting out in a long-distance relationship because all people and relationships are different.  Scott and I went into this whole thing thinking it would just be a fling o’ fun.  Little did we know it would turn into this:

 

 

the golden couple

 

However, there is one thing that will always, 154% guaranteed happen when you live here and he/she lives there.  I can guarantee you, my long-distance lover reader, that while in this relationship you will take another lover (gasp!).  No…you’re not going to be a slutty mcsluttersen.  The secondary relationship I’m talking about doesn’t give you the pleasure or cheap thrill that a one night stand might.  The relationship I’m talking about…is with your car.

You may already have a close relationship with your car.  You may have even named it (god, I miss Bubba).  But what happens in a long-distance relationship is that you begin to depend on your car more than most people.  I have an agreement with my faithful Focus that it will take me interstate on Fridays and Sundays without issue.  On the rare occasion that the low tire pressure light goes on or the windows don’t care to take it down a notch, we quarrel but always forgive each other because after all, there will always be another Friday.

Like most people, the car has a little something something that I love but at times I loathe, and that thing is the RADIO.  I don’t/can’t listen to terrestrial radio anymore (you know…Boomboom and Chickie in the morning! Coming atchya!).  Getting Sirius Radio was, well, amazeballs.  92% of the time on my travels to see my dude, you can find me listening to Howard Stern.  Don’t frigging shutter! Don’t gasp and give me a pseudo-knowing look.  Howard is the shit…he is hilarious…he is smart…he is entertaining…and as far as I know, they haven’t thrown bologna at a girls backside in years.  Unfortunately, there are times like now when Howard goes on hiatus and I’m left to my own devices during Friday evening rush hour.  These Howard-less rides can become kind of lonely because when Howard, Robin, Fred, et al are on I feel like there are a bunch of friends in my car keeping me entertained and motivated to not just run into someone to break up the monotiny that is bumper to bumper.

the reason this relationship has lasted for so long

 

Yesterday I was doing my typical drive.  As I slipped into Humphrey, I glared at his radio, praying that we could keep the peace for the next few hours.  Thankfully, he was agreable.  SUCH GOOD MUSIC!  I found myself wishing for a disco ball!  This made me think (aka blog in my head) that it would be nice to share some of the songs that kept me going during my drive.  The songs were found on a variety of Sirius music stations.  I strongly encourage you all to seek them out, especially if you’re in a long-distance relationship with one person and a love/hate one with your car.

Ici:

As the traffic started to pile up and an uninvited break in any good music came on, my mood began to shift.  I started to feel that same “ugh, not this again” feeling that comes with the onset of red, blinding break lights.  However, all of a sudden and without warning, a lovely noise came into the car.  Humphrey heard it too.  Like a choir of angels, but way more awesome.

Did you hear…that the temperature’s rising?  What about the fact that the berometers getting low?  I mean…according to my sources anyway…the street really is the best place to go.

Like a gift of the gods, it renewed my spirits!  I wish I could say that the traffic parted like the red sea.  Though it didn’t, something even beter and more nostalgic did occur.  Do you remember the late 90s?

Sure, not all of these songs are amazeballs.  But when you’re in a long-distance relationship the music is usually what keeps you going during the looooooong drives.  The songs don’t all have to be winners.  They just have to, for a few hours anyway, make you want to DANCE!

The Vatican is setting aside six days in which women who have had abortions can confess their sin and get a clean slate, aka a Pass Go & Collect $200 card into heaven.  The f*&!??  Here is my problem with religion, and I promise not to ramble for too long (please ignore promise if ramble exceeds 20 lines).

This is not about my opinion on abortion.  Rather, it has to do with my opinion on religion, or at least, how many people around the world use religion.  In this instance religion is being twisted and meddled with in order for one group (the Catholic Church) to reassert their control over another (women).  It wasn’t enough to just go with the standard “you’re wrong if you do this because it is written in a thousands of year old book that was written by a bunch of dudes”.  Now the Church seems to want to show it’s benevolence (aka extreme power of the flip flop variety) by taking back those it excommunicated. 

What is the purpose of these six days?  Is God that lenient, or is man that coniving?  I am so incredibly not a reader of the good book unless you’re referring to the good book of do unto others as you would have them do unto you.  However,  I was under the impression that what is written in the Bible is the word and the word cannot be changed.  Isn’t that the reason for Michelle Bachman’s straighten up and fly hetero camps?  The book says that one man cannot be with another man so get the hell outta dodge or you better start dodging the road signs to hell.  What is written in the Bible and how it is interpretted by those in power is what it means and cannot be changed…right?  I know I keep asking the same question, but if that is the case then what do these six days mean?  I know many Catholics who are kind, accepting people…my mom being one of them, though she is of the fallen variety.  Why do we have to come up with a set of rules to make it so easy to kick people out of our club and putz around with those rules just to scare those same people back into submission?  Isn’t the point of God to love God and to come together in his good name?  If you’re going to believe in God then that is what I think you should do, but what do I know?…I’m a live free, yoga practicing, spiritual, karma toting, Jew in the cultural sense.

I suppose that this post is another little glimpse into the mind of me for you readers.  I am pretty much anti-getting involved/putting too many eggs in one basket.  Through observation and experience I have learned that in most cases, investing all of yourself into one thing, oh let’s say, an organized religion, tends to strip you of rationality and independent thought.  Committment and passion are wonderful things, but take them too far and you just end up as one of the crowd, sharing the same brain and liver function.  I would be against this six day “reprieve” no matter which organized religion was setting it up because in my opinion it just doesn’t make sense for man to enact the word of God when God isn’t around to defend himself.

Respect each other. Don’t judge him because of how he was born or her because of how she chooses to live. Don’t selfishly speak for others, and please, assume that God has a sense of humor…I mean, have you seen the duck billed platypus?*

So that’s my opinion.  I would be happy to hears your…

*Note: joke was intended for humor purposes and was not intended to be cruel.  The duck billed platypus can be in my club any day of the week.  We can eat corndogs and watch chick flicks.

Damn you “Surprise Homecoming”.  You make me cry, make me way more patriotic (temporarily) than I am comfortable being, and you rip my cynicism right from under me.

That is…until last night.  Surprise Homecoming is a show on TLC in which members of the military surprise their loved ones by coming home from the Middle East.  These reunions are done in public in high falooting ways and there are always tears.  Can you say “heart strings”?  Probably the worst part of the show is that it’s hosted and narrated by Billy Ray Cyrus.  Anti-Christ?  Well, that’s debateable.  But what is a stone cold fact is that his monotone voice is as soul-crushing as the appearance of his mullet.  However, once you get past Mr. Cyrus and his ungodly/uncomfortable…well…everything, the show is a sweet account of families reuniting after incredibly stressful periods of time spent apart.

While watching Surprise Homecoming I always cry.  ALWAYS, and last night was no different.  I was two skips away from weeping as an Air Force soldier surprised his daughter during her Girl Scout meeting.  Not only that, but he also met his 8-month old child for the first time.  You’re crying a little right now, aren’t you?  As I watched I thought, “Oh shit…this is it.  I am no longer snarky.  I can no longer find the rediculousness in everyday life because this damn show and Billy Ray Cyrus have taken it away from me by force feeding me childhood innocence and patriotic hoo-ha.  Goodbye free thought and satire.  I guess it’s time for my eyeballs to finally straighten now that there will be no more rolling of them.  Bring on the good old red, white, blue, and sap!

But then…an angel came down from heaven and she was dressed as an overly emotional Girl Scout leader.  The leader…I forget her name…I think it was Sappy Pants McGoo, became so emotional at the reunion of father and daughter that as she spoke to the camera she couldn’t get more than two words at a time out before choking up so hard that the subsequent two words were incomprehensible.  It was…so goddamn hilarious you guys.  “It’s just *suck in breath suck in breath* so beautiful *exaggerated exhale exaggerated inhale*.”  This went on for a good paragraph of overly emotional hilarity.

I am SURE she was being sincere and I know that it’s slightly hypocritical of me to mock someone who was moved by the same thing that had driven me to tears.  But, I mean…come on!  My tears were falling liquid bits of Hell compared to this womans, and I was still able to form complete sentences.  In fact, I was able to laugh.  Laugh so hard that I almost fell off the bed.  Laugh so hard that I had completely forgotten about the reunion, Mr. Cyrus, or the *just a little too much* that often comes with a show that discusses homecomings, children, veterans, and/or country music.

Sure, I can be sappy and silly, just as long as the majority of me is snarky and witty.  It’s how I was raised and it’s how I like to be.  Come cry on my shoulder and I’ll stroke your hair and give you my advice…but I’m also gonna break the sadness with a joke at your expense, but just know that it’s all out of love.  Watching this little snippet of Surprise Homecoming my cynicism was reborn and it made me feel like me again.  It also reminded me why I quit the Girl Scouts in the 6th grade.

I had a VERY busy/fun weekend with friends and family.  A wedding weekend without the wedding, if you will.  Bridal shower followed by engagement party followed by excellent deep dish pizza at Giovanni’s Pizza in Southington.  As fun as the weekend was, it was also exceptionally tiring thanks to all of the New England driving I did. (OK, I know I said no talking about the weekend, but allow me one complaint…WHY do New Hampshire malls, or should I say, the mall in Manchester, NH, open the big department stores and Auntie Anne’s before noon, but the other stores don’t open until noon exactly??  The poor Foot Locker employee looked so sad standing outside of his store, in his black and white striped shirt, bars shutting him out of his source of income.  Almost poetic.  Almost.)

Perhaps the most daunting part of the weekend, and yea, I know this will sound a little sad, was being surrounded by rED sOX FANS.  This a species that I have heard much of, but admittedly have not spent much time with.  They don’t usually migrate south of Hartford…thankfully.  Yankees fans and red sox fans have a lot in common.  They are both incredibly passionate about their teams and appear to have a part of the brain that does nothing short of explode when the other team is even mentioned.  At this point I really couldn’t give two and a half craps about the sox themselves (cough cough 86 years cough cough you’ll never be us hack).  I’m fairly certain that not even the most relaxing and enlightening yoga practice could make me a nicer person when it comes to this rivalry.  For me, baseball trumps enlightenment any day of the week (especially during the post seas0n).

When my shit-talking is geared towards baseball rivalries, it is really geared towards the fans.  Not the individuals…I won’t disown friends or family members because of their loyalties.  But when it comes to the big crowd of red sox fans…those baked bean eating, most f-ed up accent in the country sounding, couldn’t survive a day in manhattan sox fans…

…well, that happens.  I’M SO MEAN!  Are ALL Yankees fans mean??  Do I even mean what I say??  When it comes to red sox fans…absolutely.  Sorry.  Hate to generalize but I recognize when it is necessary and so should you.  My boss…the guy who could fire me, is a big sox fan and yet I go head to head with him when the subject arises.  Fire me, but fire me because my team is better than yours and you know it and if there’s one thing that’s more difficult to break out of than jail, it’s being either a Yankees or red sox fan.  After a bartender in New Hampshire saw my New Jersey license this weekend he immediately grouped together his stereotypes.  I had already done the same thing about him when as I ordered my Sam Adams Summer I never took my eyes off of his sox hat.  I proceeded to mock them every chance I got.  The bartender was a good sport and still poured some excellent Jack & Cokes, but I knew that if I’d said what I’d said at the Sunset Bar & Grille in Boston, MA, I’d have been taken to Fenway PAAHHHHk and been locked away in the lower levels where they keep the red sox paraphanalia…a true punishment.  Maybe New Hampshire is a little more low key about this rivalry.  If you’re too stoned to open your malls before noon then you’re probably too stoned to care about sports, let alone sports rivalries.

The Yankees/red sox rivalry is not about coming together for the love of the game.  It’s not about recognizing the accomplishments of both teams and saying “hey, see you in March”, or letting a red sox bartender do his job without mockery.  It doesn’t matter whose turf you’re on.  Bleeding blue and white and bleeding whatever the hell the sox are…orange and lavender?…once it’s with you it’s with you.  Let’s leave that pathetic display of surrender and “friendship” to the Mets and Phillies fans…

 

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