Hello all,
So much has happened but I'm pretty much in the same place. Many of you don't know this but I have been talking to Fuckhead. It's a long story, but finally after enough abuse from him and a self realization, I will not be talking to him anymore. I feel so stupid for ever having believed that he would be better than what he was treating me. Writing this blog, as twisted as it may sound, is like free therapy for me. I have always been able to talk more freely about my life to strangers, it's the performer in me. Well, finally after telling the "Fuckhead and me" story to enough people with their response being, "....and you would want to get back together with him?", I realized no, no I would not. My best of friends and family have been telling me that it would not work because he is a ballless sack of crap, but I was stupid and now I want more for myself.
Moving right along, Christmas day was a bottle-of-rum blur followed by a pm rescue from my best friend to go see the Curious Case of Benjamin Button. She saved me right as I was on my last drink, playing cards with my cousins (whom I used to call the Rectangle Children, because of their shape and appeal), and allegedly started to make plans for a card tournament for Easter. All I got for Christmas was a "European" styled soccer jersey from my uncle, some socks, and an envelope of money which I keep playing boomerang with my parents. I told them not to give me anything. Isn't that nice, no gift required, I don't want anything, stop giving me that, stop, STOP!!! I'll probably end up taking it; I'm poor, not stupid.
On the 26th I came home to find Christmas part 3 in full swing. I raced through 30 oz. of red wine and then it was off to the local Pendleton bars with my favorite brother, sister-in-law, and cousin. Whoever said screaming Taylor Swift songs and constantly retelling a story of another cousin who passed out driving her car because she licked cat medicine off her hand was no fun has clearly never been to The Old Trail off of I-69. We were soon joined by a local family, friends through my brother, and I regaled them with stories of my colorful life. Dancing, travel, and celebrity. They "Oohed" and "Ahhed" in all the appropriate places and when I was done they told me that I had such an amazing life. Really?? I mean I always thought so, but to hear someone else say it was a compliment for which I was not prepared. Maybe I told it wrong...
We then went to the bar in downtown Pendleton where I was met by all of the most popular kids in my class. They came up to me and hugged me like I was the long lost friend they never never invited to a party or would talk down to when we were partners in math class. It was like Bizarro World. Up was down, right was left, and I was popular too. After that, this siren who was a senior in my show choir when I was a freshman came up to me, hugged me, told me how fabulous I looked and demanded that I come to New York to stay with her. She said that she had gone through a divorce that sounded similar to mine and could name 10 of her closest gay friends that would eat me up........I just need a minute to imagine that...............................that was awesome.
Am I popular now? Did having a failed life that involved me living at home with my parents and working in a superstore make me popular? Maybe I should rethink this whole popular thing.
As I was receiving my shots of self confidence from around the room my brother was shooting something else. I turned on myself to find him three sheets to the wind and in a better mood than I had seen him in in college.
Him: "Heeey Nouh, we gotta make you pard uh duh family."
Me: "Umm, I thought I already was?"
Him: "Naah, naah, com'er. HEY FAMILY!"
He proceeded to shake my hand and slap the crap out of it until it was swollen red and all veins had popped out of the top. "Ahh, mother fucker!", I said and responded the only way that seemed natural and slapped him across the face, twice. This apparently was not the reciprocal response he was anticipating and was very upset. My sister-in-law explained to him that I was of a lighter fair and did not respond to this fraternal showing. He brought over my cousin and showed me that appropriate response was to do it back. I then had to demonstrate my familial bond and do it with both of them, twice. My hand still hurts.
As for New Years Eve, I have tentative plans with an old friend and hope that he calls me to go out. Even if he doesn't call me I think I'll drive to Indy to go to a gay club by myself. I'm feeling empowered and in need of some attention I am not getting here at home. Until then I will work on my plan to build a time machine to go back in time 27 years and talk to Fuckhead's mother about her pro choice options. Would you want your baby to grow up to be a spineless chode? I wouldn't.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
I'll Be Home for Christmas......or Dead.
Hello all,
Merry almost Christmas. I'm writing you today as my parents have gone to the first of two candle light services, I opted to stay at home, dodging bullets however I can. I am trying to avoid the holiday entirely by barely participating, it is not working out very well. I have half a bottle of rum saved for tomorrow when my mom's family comes, and I'll need every drop. Whenever my mom sees me with a drink in hand she looks at me and shakes her head as if I'm sniffing crack off the "davenport". Lady it's called a couch, nobody ever called it a "davenport". Geez...., but I digress.
Yesterday it took me 3 hours to get home from work. 3 HOURS!!! It normally takes me 25 min. Usually in a traffic jam, I yell something like, "There better be 8 dead bodies on the road!!!", but seeing as I was in no rush to get home I just relaxed into my iPod for a long winter's jam session. The longer I waited I started to realize how nobody was calling me. Not my family or my friends, nobody. I was in a wintery mix storm, and no one knew where I was! I could be DEAD! WHY IS NO ONE CHECKING TO SEE WHERE I AM?????
I got home at 8 and said "Hey, sooooo yeah, it took me 3 hours to get home today...." Mom was in the kitchen wrapping presents and Dad was on the computer.
Mom: "What time did you leave work?"
Me: "5."
"Oh, wow." Thoroughly unamused.
"But it's ok, I'm fine. Nooooo need to call me and see where I am."
"Well, if I call you you'll just get ticked off, and I don't want to be responsible for that."
"Uh, let's see...I was gone 2 1/2 hours longer than what I said I would and the weather is turning every road into the set of Cool Runnings 2. Yes, I would be fine if you called me to see where I am."
Merry almost Christmas. I'm writing you today as my parents have gone to the first of two candle light services, I opted to stay at home, dodging bullets however I can. I am trying to avoid the holiday entirely by barely participating, it is not working out very well. I have half a bottle of rum saved for tomorrow when my mom's family comes, and I'll need every drop. Whenever my mom sees me with a drink in hand she looks at me and shakes her head as if I'm sniffing crack off the "davenport". Lady it's called a couch, nobody ever called it a "davenport". Geez...., but I digress.
Yesterday it took me 3 hours to get home from work. 3 HOURS!!! It normally takes me 25 min. Usually in a traffic jam, I yell something like, "There better be 8 dead bodies on the road!!!", but seeing as I was in no rush to get home I just relaxed into my iPod for a long winter's jam session. The longer I waited I started to realize how nobody was calling me. Not my family or my friends, nobody. I was in a wintery mix storm, and no one knew where I was! I could be DEAD! WHY IS NO ONE CHECKING TO SEE WHERE I AM?????
I got home at 8 and said "Hey, sooooo yeah, it took me 3 hours to get home today...." Mom was in the kitchen wrapping presents and Dad was on the computer.
Mom: "What time did you leave work?"
Me: "5."
"Oh, wow." Thoroughly unamused.
"But it's ok, I'm fine. Nooooo need to call me and see where I am."
"Well, if I call you you'll just get ticked off, and I don't want to be responsible for that."
"Uh, let's see...I was gone 2 1/2 hours longer than what I said I would and the weather is turning every road into the set of Cool Runnings 2. Yes, I would be fine if you called me to see where I am."
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Sometimes I Think There's a Reason I Don't Go Out.
Hello all,
Yesterday I went to a holiday party thrown by a friend from high school that I haven’t seen since 2001. He was gay as the day is long in high school but didn’t come out until he was in college. It was a jammed pack evening, but I’m jumping ahead of myself….
I was so excited to actually have a party to go to, that, teamed with me having no real life, resulted in me getting ready at 4 in the afternoon and waiting 5 hours like a 16 year old girl waiting for her first homecoming dance. I won’t go into all the details, but I will say that waiting around the house to go to a party where you hope to partake in various forms of debauchery with people you just meet while your parents ask you if you need to bring any food to the party and that you need to make a nice friend so that if you drink too much you will have someone to stay with is a big ol’ buzz kill.
I got to the party a little early so I drove around a little in hopes that I would not be the first person there. After a half hour or so I finally went into the party were I was greeted by a squat Korean woman who said, “Op, it’s another gay! Are you the crazy person who’s been driving around the block for an hour?” Damn it. After that my high school friend greeted me and showed me around the house, ending in his bedroom where he over-applied his make up, told me that he and his partner have an unresolved open relationship, and showed me that in just 7 years a black tee-shirt, baggy jean-wearing hipster can become a screaming queen.
Most of the party guests consisted of couples and drag queens who weren’t in drag and bitched about it all night. After I filled my cup for the first time I realized that because of my single status I was the topic of conversation and no one in the room made it a point to conceal what they thought about me.
Party Guest 1: “Mmm, look at that ass.”
Me: “Thank you…..”
Party Guest 2: “I know it’s so perky!”
Me: “Thanks…… I was a dance major in college.”
Party Guest 1: “Ohh, you could like set your drink on it.”
Me: “…….uh…”
Party Guest 2: “You just wanna smack it!”
Me: “Ah, yes, (I dodge a few hands)……don’t though!”
My spotlight was soon stolen by the unresolved part of my friend’s open relationship. He had just turned 20, wasn’t allowed to drink because of a DUI and a court date the next day, and was leaving after his appearance in court on a plane headed for California where he was going to be filmed in his first porno at one of everyone’s favorite sites. If that’s not what dreams are made of, I’ve been dreaming for the wrong stuff.
As the party died down I was asked out by one of the only other single, non-drag queen people at the party. He was a brown haired little twink around my age who had gone to IU and majored in law and biology. He was planning a future career as a lawologist, or a bioyer, or something. We were both pretty unsure on what he would do with that, I actually think he was lying. We went to a bar nearby for an hour and I kicked his drunken ass in darts twice. After that I drove him home and went inside to use the bathroom, he told me that because of his roommate being home we could hang out in his room. I came out of the bathroom and turned the corner to find the guy already in bed in his underwear.
Me: “Uh…….hi.”
Him: “Hey, why don’t you just come and lay down in bed?”
(And by “bed”, he meant a king size air mattress with no sheets. Hell no.)
Me: “Uh …really?”
Him: “Yeah. Come on, I just wanna talk.”
Me: “Yeah, no.…..I’m….I’m just gonna go home now.”
When all was said and done I was pretty happy with that decision. The only thing I regret is the rum. Yikes! I started training for my second job today and that was rough. While watching an instructional video about hazardous chemicals and diseases transmitted in blood I was certain for 15 seconds that I had Hepatitis B, but after realizing how that was not at all possible, I knew I was just really hung over.
Yesterday I went to a holiday party thrown by a friend from high school that I haven’t seen since 2001. He was gay as the day is long in high school but didn’t come out until he was in college. It was a jammed pack evening, but I’m jumping ahead of myself….
I was so excited to actually have a party to go to, that, teamed with me having no real life, resulted in me getting ready at 4 in the afternoon and waiting 5 hours like a 16 year old girl waiting for her first homecoming dance. I won’t go into all the details, but I will say that waiting around the house to go to a party where you hope to partake in various forms of debauchery with people you just meet while your parents ask you if you need to bring any food to the party and that you need to make a nice friend so that if you drink too much you will have someone to stay with is a big ol’ buzz kill.
I got to the party a little early so I drove around a little in hopes that I would not be the first person there. After a half hour or so I finally went into the party were I was greeted by a squat Korean woman who said, “Op, it’s another gay! Are you the crazy person who’s been driving around the block for an hour?” Damn it. After that my high school friend greeted me and showed me around the house, ending in his bedroom where he over-applied his make up, told me that he and his partner have an unresolved open relationship, and showed me that in just 7 years a black tee-shirt, baggy jean-wearing hipster can become a screaming queen.
Most of the party guests consisted of couples and drag queens who weren’t in drag and bitched about it all night. After I filled my cup for the first time I realized that because of my single status I was the topic of conversation and no one in the room made it a point to conceal what they thought about me.
Party Guest 1: “Mmm, look at that ass.”
Me: “Thank you…..”
Party Guest 2: “I know it’s so perky!”
Me: “Thanks…… I was a dance major in college.”
Party Guest 1: “Ohh, you could like set your drink on it.”
Me: “…….uh…”
Party Guest 2: “You just wanna smack it!”
Me: “Ah, yes, (I dodge a few hands)……don’t though!”
My spotlight was soon stolen by the unresolved part of my friend’s open relationship. He had just turned 20, wasn’t allowed to drink because of a DUI and a court date the next day, and was leaving after his appearance in court on a plane headed for California where he was going to be filmed in his first porno at one of everyone’s favorite sites. If that’s not what dreams are made of, I’ve been dreaming for the wrong stuff.
As the party died down I was asked out by one of the only other single, non-drag queen people at the party. He was a brown haired little twink around my age who had gone to IU and majored in law and biology. He was planning a future career as a lawologist, or a bioyer, or something. We were both pretty unsure on what he would do with that, I actually think he was lying. We went to a bar nearby for an hour and I kicked his drunken ass in darts twice. After that I drove him home and went inside to use the bathroom, he told me that because of his roommate being home we could hang out in his room. I came out of the bathroom and turned the corner to find the guy already in bed in his underwear.
Me: “Uh…….hi.”
Him: “Hey, why don’t you just come and lay down in bed?”
(And by “bed”, he meant a king size air mattress with no sheets. Hell no.)
Me: “Uh …really?”
Him: “Yeah. Come on, I just wanna talk.”
Me: “Yeah, no.…..I’m….I’m just gonna go home now.”
When all was said and done I was pretty happy with that decision. The only thing I regret is the rum. Yikes! I started training for my second job today and that was rough. While watching an instructional video about hazardous chemicals and diseases transmitted in blood I was certain for 15 seconds that I had Hepatitis B, but after realizing how that was not at all possible, I knew I was just really hung over.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
The Howl of a Goat
Hello all,
Next week I will have been home for 5 months. Can you believe it? 5 MONTHS!!! It seems like a few weeks and a million years all at the same time. Everyday I feel like I’m falling further down the rabbit hole resulting in my inevitable unwinding.
The other day I was walking outside with the dogs and I heard a goat. My parents have been living in this house for 12 years and I have never heard farm animals before. I thought I was going crazy. My dog and I, both, looked with tilted heads off into the distance. The whole thing reminded me of a woman who was on Oprah many years ago. She was diagnosed with multiple personality disorder and wrote a book about it; in the book she said that she was warned by the change of one personality to another by the scream of a rabbit in her ears. I knew I wasn’t that crazy and I was accustomed to waking up every Saturday morning by the screams of newly tattooed rabbits as a child, maybe a goat was my crazy animal trigger. I knew it was a goat and not a sheep because
Goat: “Eh, eh, eh…..”
Sheep: “Meeeeeeeeeh"
Very distinct, thank you 4-H. I was wearing my pajamas, winter coat, and work boots as I tiptoed halfway through the neighbor’s yard before I realized how crazy I actually looked and ran back in the house, arms flailing in the air behind me. I asked Dad about it and it turns out that the goat lives 2 houses over and is there to keep a horse, who is apparently a mute, company. Now, every time, I’m in that corner of the yard and I hear the goat I think, “Oh God, is this it? Am I crazy now? Or, am I crazy cause I think the howl of a goat is going to make me crazy?” Probably a little of both.
Next week I will have been home for 5 months. Can you believe it? 5 MONTHS!!! It seems like a few weeks and a million years all at the same time. Everyday I feel like I’m falling further down the rabbit hole resulting in my inevitable unwinding.
The other day I was walking outside with the dogs and I heard a goat. My parents have been living in this house for 12 years and I have never heard farm animals before. I thought I was going crazy. My dog and I, both, looked with tilted heads off into the distance. The whole thing reminded me of a woman who was on Oprah many years ago. She was diagnosed with multiple personality disorder and wrote a book about it; in the book she said that she was warned by the change of one personality to another by the scream of a rabbit in her ears. I knew I wasn’t that crazy and I was accustomed to waking up every Saturday morning by the screams of newly tattooed rabbits as a child, maybe a goat was my crazy animal trigger. I knew it was a goat and not a sheep because
Goat: “Eh, eh, eh…..”
Sheep: “Meeeeeeeeeh"
Very distinct, thank you 4-H. I was wearing my pajamas, winter coat, and work boots as I tiptoed halfway through the neighbor’s yard before I realized how crazy I actually looked and ran back in the house, arms flailing in the air behind me. I asked Dad about it and it turns out that the goat lives 2 houses over and is there to keep a horse, who is apparently a mute, company. Now, every time, I’m in that corner of the yard and I hear the goat I think, “Oh God, is this it? Am I crazy now? Or, am I crazy cause I think the howl of a goat is going to make me crazy?” Probably a little of both.
Beware the TV
Hello all,
I am writing you today from the extra bedroom in my house that has become my sanctuary. My bedroom is filled with so much of my crap, and I need a bit of a vacation from the other members of the household, so this little haven off the front of the house is my piece of heaven; quiet, clean(er), full of solitude.
There was a holiday special on TV, the top 20 songs of Christmas, and I just about stabbed my thigh it was so annoying. I could barely stand Taylor Swift, whom I commonly enjoy, singing the pitchiest version of Silent Night I have heard since high school show choir. Those damn Chipmunks were about to get a hula hoop jammed down their little necks. The last nail in the coffin was when they started to play scenes from The Nightmare before Christmas, one of Fuckhead’s favorite movies. The holidays are like romantic comedies, people think that it’s fun for everyone, but it’s not. Romantic comedies piss me off so much; in the 2 hours you spent watching Diane Lane get devastated and married you get to walk away from the whole experience still alone.
I know not many of the people who read this blog are single, but seriously, the holidays for couples are all about starting traditions and being together in the snow with the presents and all that crap. The holidays for single people is about attending parties hoping that someone will be as pissed off as you are about the whole ordeal and that will be the common bond that will turn the both of you from singles into a couple. Weddings too, going to a wedding is not about seeing you friends get married, no no, it’s about seeing which of your friends are still available, hoping that you are not the last one.
I blame the TV. I keep on thinking Fuckhead will come back to me, even though I wouldn’t know what to do with him if it happened. I try not to think about that but it bombards me at every intersection. Big came back to Carrie, Harry Connick Jr. came back to Grace, even that lady who filled in for Aunt Becky on "Wake Up, San Francisco" when she was pregnant with the twins came back to Danny Tanner on the last episode of Full House. Buffy and Angel! Buffy and Angel!!!! I am a big fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (no judgment) and they did not end up back together after all was said and done!!!!! They were together, knew it wouldn’t/couldn’t work out and never got back together. That was realistic. I’m going to go watch that right now, I have the whole series………….oh……..oh, shit. Where is my entire series of Buffy and Angel, oh, that’s right, it’s in the bottom of a closet in Fuckhead’s apt. on the upper upper upper west side with no plans of coming back to me. DAMN IT!
I am writing you today from the extra bedroom in my house that has become my sanctuary. My bedroom is filled with so much of my crap, and I need a bit of a vacation from the other members of the household, so this little haven off the front of the house is my piece of heaven; quiet, clean(er), full of solitude.
There was a holiday special on TV, the top 20 songs of Christmas, and I just about stabbed my thigh it was so annoying. I could barely stand Taylor Swift, whom I commonly enjoy, singing the pitchiest version of Silent Night I have heard since high school show choir. Those damn Chipmunks were about to get a hula hoop jammed down their little necks. The last nail in the coffin was when they started to play scenes from The Nightmare before Christmas, one of Fuckhead’s favorite movies. The holidays are like romantic comedies, people think that it’s fun for everyone, but it’s not. Romantic comedies piss me off so much; in the 2 hours you spent watching Diane Lane get devastated and married you get to walk away from the whole experience still alone.
I know not many of the people who read this blog are single, but seriously, the holidays for couples are all about starting traditions and being together in the snow with the presents and all that crap. The holidays for single people is about attending parties hoping that someone will be as pissed off as you are about the whole ordeal and that will be the common bond that will turn the both of you from singles into a couple. Weddings too, going to a wedding is not about seeing you friends get married, no no, it’s about seeing which of your friends are still available, hoping that you are not the last one.
I blame the TV. I keep on thinking Fuckhead will come back to me, even though I wouldn’t know what to do with him if it happened. I try not to think about that but it bombards me at every intersection. Big came back to Carrie, Harry Connick Jr. came back to Grace, even that lady who filled in for Aunt Becky on "Wake Up, San Francisco" when she was pregnant with the twins came back to Danny Tanner on the last episode of Full House. Buffy and Angel! Buffy and Angel!!!! I am a big fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (no judgment) and they did not end up back together after all was said and done!!!!! They were together, knew it wouldn’t/couldn’t work out and never got back together. That was realistic. I’m going to go watch that right now, I have the whole series………….oh……..oh, shit. Where is my entire series of Buffy and Angel, oh, that’s right, it’s in the bottom of a closet in Fuckhead’s apt. on the upper upper upper west side with no plans of coming back to me. DAMN IT!
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Much Ablog About Nothing
Hello all,
I'm writing you today from the Pendleton library after having, yet again, another tragic haircut. I don't know what my problem is, I think that I may be to faithful of strangers. I have been told again and again by my best of friends not to go to the cheap places to get my hair cut, but I always think that today is going to be the day, I will get a great haircut from some charming and delightful townie. Instead I always get some trashy girl who got pregnant her sophomore year of high school, who is wearing clothes from Kmart, has clearly printed her barber license off the Internet and is smacking Juicy Fruit in my ear. And I always walk out of there with a prison hair cut and am too nice to leave a crappy tip. Damn my generosity. It's odd, I really don't have a problem being mean to people, but in the 2 second greeting you get before your haircut I invest enough faith in this piece of trash person to cut my hair, MY HAIR!! Oh well, she'll probably get the clap or something and I'll begin the whole process again in 2 1/2 months with some other teenage shotgun bride.
I have been doing a lot of training at the restaurant where I was hired only to find out that I'd be given one shift a week. Son of a bitch!!! Right? I did my shift yesterday and made $11 dollars. Seriously, I have learned enough about myself, I am interested in no more hard times. What the hell am I supposed to do with $11!! NOTHING. Geez.
Today I am looking for a new job online, using career placement websites. Dad seemed to think this was a good idea and that I'd be a prime candidate for an insurance bureau. Can you imagine? Me, selling insurance, or what ever they do there? That would be hilarious. I'd do it just to laugh at myself. Ha! Walking up to guys in a bar saying that I have a BFA in Dance Performance, sell insurance, and live at home with my parents where I settle for prison hair cuts. Lord, take me now. Granted, I'd be making more doing that than what I'm doing now, it would just be a very funny turn of events
Last night I had a very vivid dream that is sticking with me. Now, many of my dreams (70% or so)take place in places from my childhood. My old house, church, school, or fairgrounds, it's very bizarre and it probably means something, but why go to a therapist when if I keep it all bottled up inside it just makes me a more entertaining dinner guest? Anywho, the dream took place in my apartment from my first year at Butler, the one on 38th St. Not many people visited me there, thanks. There was an old woman who had lived and died there and my parents, some people I don't remember and I were there to clean up the apt. so it could be resold. She didn't have much, just some pictures on the walls of an old farm house and barn and a fridge filled with nonperishable items and Hershey's chocolate syrup. Everytime I opened the fridge there would be more bottles of syrup. Dad came to get me for a meeting on how to clean up the apt. saying that we would need to make it a few hundred square feet bigger and then I woke up.
What the hell does that mean???
I have been lactose intolerant for 2 weeks now and I think the lack of milk is driving me crazy. I used to make a lot of chocolate milk and maybe that's where the chocolate syrup comes in, but I don't know. I'm going to try Silk, the soy milk, and see if it's a good substitute. I bought a bottle of it once, for kicks, and it wasn't so bad. I hear there is some replacement for ice cream as well. But as for my best friend, cheese, from what I have heard, non-dairy cheese tastes like cardboard. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself, maybe this is the part of the movie of my life where I change everything about my life, become vegan and loose 50 lbs. and meet some bagger named Sven at Whole Foods and we move to Seattle and fight global warming and get matching Hybrids and get a kitchen floor made out of bamboo and adopt unwanted Mexican toddlers and I'll try to live a life with constant 5 o'clock shadow and..... and..... and.........no that probably won't happen. I'll probably stay at home for a while displace love from any possible outlet into my dog, gain more weight around my mid-section, dream of meeting someone while looking at all desperate personal ads on craigslist and never pay any of my bills and go to prison, well at least I'll have the haircut for it.
I'm writing you today from the Pendleton library after having, yet again, another tragic haircut. I don't know what my problem is, I think that I may be to faithful of strangers. I have been told again and again by my best of friends not to go to the cheap places to get my hair cut, but I always think that today is going to be the day, I will get a great haircut from some charming and delightful townie. Instead I always get some trashy girl who got pregnant her sophomore year of high school, who is wearing clothes from Kmart, has clearly printed her barber license off the Internet and is smacking Juicy Fruit in my ear. And I always walk out of there with a prison hair cut and am too nice to leave a crappy tip. Damn my generosity. It's odd, I really don't have a problem being mean to people, but in the 2 second greeting you get before your haircut I invest enough faith in this piece of trash person to cut my hair, MY HAIR!! Oh well, she'll probably get the clap or something and I'll begin the whole process again in 2 1/2 months with some other teenage shotgun bride.
I have been doing a lot of training at the restaurant where I was hired only to find out that I'd be given one shift a week. Son of a bitch!!! Right? I did my shift yesterday and made $11 dollars. Seriously, I have learned enough about myself, I am interested in no more hard times. What the hell am I supposed to do with $11!! NOTHING. Geez.
Today I am looking for a new job online, using career placement websites. Dad seemed to think this was a good idea and that I'd be a prime candidate for an insurance bureau. Can you imagine? Me, selling insurance, or what ever they do there? That would be hilarious. I'd do it just to laugh at myself. Ha! Walking up to guys in a bar saying that I have a BFA in Dance Performance, sell insurance, and live at home with my parents where I settle for prison hair cuts. Lord, take me now. Granted, I'd be making more doing that than what I'm doing now, it would just be a very funny turn of events
Last night I had a very vivid dream that is sticking with me. Now, many of my dreams (70% or so)take place in places from my childhood. My old house, church, school, or fairgrounds, it's very bizarre and it probably means something, but why go to a therapist when if I keep it all bottled up inside it just makes me a more entertaining dinner guest? Anywho, the dream took place in my apartment from my first year at Butler, the one on 38th St. Not many people visited me there, thanks. There was an old woman who had lived and died there and my parents, some people I don't remember and I were there to clean up the apt. so it could be resold. She didn't have much, just some pictures on the walls of an old farm house and barn and a fridge filled with nonperishable items and Hershey's chocolate syrup. Everytime I opened the fridge there would be more bottles of syrup. Dad came to get me for a meeting on how to clean up the apt. saying that we would need to make it a few hundred square feet bigger and then I woke up.
What the hell does that mean???
I have been lactose intolerant for 2 weeks now and I think the lack of milk is driving me crazy. I used to make a lot of chocolate milk and maybe that's where the chocolate syrup comes in, but I don't know. I'm going to try Silk, the soy milk, and see if it's a good substitute. I bought a bottle of it once, for kicks, and it wasn't so bad. I hear there is some replacement for ice cream as well. But as for my best friend, cheese, from what I have heard, non-dairy cheese tastes like cardboard. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself, maybe this is the part of the movie of my life where I change everything about my life, become vegan and loose 50 lbs. and meet some bagger named Sven at Whole Foods and we move to Seattle and fight global warming and get matching Hybrids and get a kitchen floor made out of bamboo and adopt unwanted Mexican toddlers and I'll try to live a life with constant 5 o'clock shadow and..... and..... and.........no that probably won't happen. I'll probably stay at home for a while displace love from any possible outlet into my dog, gain more weight around my mid-section, dream of meeting someone while looking at all desperate personal ads on craigslist and never pay any of my bills and go to prison, well at least I'll have the haircut for it.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Hey, Hey, Hey.... That's OUR Word!
Hello all,
I'm writing you today from the Panera on 96th St. It has taken me a minute to find out what may be interesting in my life that doesn't directly relate to my parents, but then I started working at a restaurant and became clear. I have also been on hiatus because of a distressing phone call from Fuckhead, but that is an exhausting tale that has a 2 drink minimum. I'll just say that I still don't know when I'm going to get my stuff back- ARG.
Anywho, I have been training at work all week and the other night I was following a server and walked past the general manager telling the rest of the employees a story.The general manager looks like a combination of Mr. Clean, a pirate, and a motivational speaker who is trying to sell you gym equipment on an infomercial.
"Oh, yickity yackity, blah, blah, blah..........like I was some kind of fuckin' fag!!!"
Now, I commonly am not offended when people say slurs such as this. I know people are idiots and this man gave no reason to think any more of him, so my server and I talked about it for a second and moved on. Later on in the evening, I stepped into the restroom to check my voicemail and when I returned my server told me that he had taken her aside and apologized to her saying that he wasn't thinking of me being able to hear him.
A few hours after that he asked me to come into his office (duh, duh, DUH). He stretched out his hand, and during the longest most awkward handshake he apologized to me for saying that and that he NEVER says things like that and that was very insensitive. He repeated himself 4 or 5 times, still holding my hand (still awkward). You could tell the thought bubbles above our heads were flashing " LAWSUIT, LAWSUIT, LAWSUIT". I said something to the effect of, "Oh, yeah, people just don't think about what they're saying sometimes, who's that at the door, mkay bye." He was very, extraspecially polite to me for the remainder of the evening and let me leave early.
I haven't checked my driver's licence in a while, but I'm pretty sure I wasn't born yesterday.
never say things like that = I didn't know you heard me
very insensitive = please don't get me fired
Really, I don't know what offends me more, that he said it in a big group of his employees or that he picked me out as being the offended by it cause I'm gay. I don't remember checking the sexual orientation box on my application. Let's all say it together S-E-X-U-A-L H-A-R-A-S-S--M-E-N-T. I mean, yes, I am aware of my gayness. I'm no screaming queen, but I don't pretend to be straight either. In the job market a few years ago, I'd have quit on the spot, but I guess it might be fun to see how this plays out over time.
I'm writing you today from the Panera on 96th St. It has taken me a minute to find out what may be interesting in my life that doesn't directly relate to my parents, but then I started working at a restaurant and became clear. I have also been on hiatus because of a distressing phone call from Fuckhead, but that is an exhausting tale that has a 2 drink minimum. I'll just say that I still don't know when I'm going to get my stuff back- ARG.
Anywho, I have been training at work all week and the other night I was following a server and walked past the general manager telling the rest of the employees a story.The general manager looks like a combination of Mr. Clean, a pirate, and a motivational speaker who is trying to sell you gym equipment on an infomercial.
"Oh, yickity yackity, blah, blah, blah..........like I was some kind of fuckin' fag!!!"
Now, I commonly am not offended when people say slurs such as this. I know people are idiots and this man gave no reason to think any more of him, so my server and I talked about it for a second and moved on. Later on in the evening, I stepped into the restroom to check my voicemail and when I returned my server told me that he had taken her aside and apologized to her saying that he wasn't thinking of me being able to hear him.
A few hours after that he asked me to come into his office (duh, duh, DUH). He stretched out his hand, and during the longest most awkward handshake he apologized to me for saying that and that he NEVER says things like that and that was very insensitive. He repeated himself 4 or 5 times, still holding my hand (still awkward). You could tell the thought bubbles above our heads were flashing " LAWSUIT, LAWSUIT, LAWSUIT". I said something to the effect of, "Oh, yeah, people just don't think about what they're saying sometimes, who's that at the door, mkay bye." He was very, extraspecially polite to me for the remainder of the evening and let me leave early.
I haven't checked my driver's licence in a while, but I'm pretty sure I wasn't born yesterday.
never say things like that = I didn't know you heard me
very insensitive = please don't get me fired
Really, I don't know what offends me more, that he said it in a big group of his employees or that he picked me out as being the offended by it cause I'm gay. I don't remember checking the sexual orientation box on my application. Let's all say it together S-E-X-U-A-L H-A-R-A-S-S--M-E-N-T. I mean, yes, I am aware of my gayness. I'm no screaming queen, but I don't pretend to be straight either. In the job market a few years ago, I'd have quit on the spot, but I guess it might be fun to see how this plays out over time.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Are We Assholes?
Hello all,
It has been brought to my attention, but I have known for quite sometime, that I may be an asshole. Lots of people are assholes, some big, some little, I like to think I'm somewhere in between. Despite what you might think, I write this blog for my own amusement, though I know people read it, and never mean any harm. Granted, I have a very severe, dark sense of humor, I never mean to purposefully (except for you know who) in the things that I write and usually think that people will think it is funny and leave it at that.
When I came home today my parents had a sit down talk (uh-oh) with me because, turns out, they found out what I have been writing on my blog. In my sick, delusional mind, I pictured some frivolous TV parents, who would find it funny and move on. These are not my parents. They found it mean and hurtful and I am sorry. I never intended to vex them for all of their care and generosity. My mom had not technically read the blog but she heard from people what I had been saying. And naturally how gossip spreads and ideas get misconstrued, whoever told her gave her a worst case scenario which just snowballed from there. So to whomever told her, yes, I may be an asshole who is in a rough patch of my life and abuses my parents in thinking that their quirks are humorous enough to write about; that's my deal. I may be an asshole for needing a way to vent about my current situation and thinking that people who know me would think it was funny and move on, but you, well........you're just a bitch.
It has been brought to my attention, but I have known for quite sometime, that I may be an asshole. Lots of people are assholes, some big, some little, I like to think I'm somewhere in between. Despite what you might think, I write this blog for my own amusement, though I know people read it, and never mean any harm. Granted, I have a very severe, dark sense of humor, I never mean to purposefully (except for you know who) in the things that I write and usually think that people will think it is funny and leave it at that.
When I came home today my parents had a sit down talk (uh-oh) with me because, turns out, they found out what I have been writing on my blog. In my sick, delusional mind, I pictured some frivolous TV parents, who would find it funny and move on. These are not my parents. They found it mean and hurtful and I am sorry. I never intended to vex them for all of their care and generosity. My mom had not technically read the blog but she heard from people what I had been saying. And naturally how gossip spreads and ideas get misconstrued, whoever told her gave her a worst case scenario which just snowballed from there. So to whomever told her, yes, I may be an asshole who is in a rough patch of my life and abuses my parents in thinking that their quirks are humorous enough to write about; that's my deal. I may be an asshole for needing a way to vent about my current situation and thinking that people who know me would think it was funny and move on, but you, well........you're just a bitch.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Too Damn Early
Hello all,
I have seriously only been awake for 9 min. I got up and came outside and stood in the sun room where we put the lights on the tree yesterday.
Mom: "Graham says that we should put the ornaments on the tree today, he, he!"
Me: "......what?"
"He, he, he Graham said that we should put the ornaments on the tree today."
"No he didn't."
"Yes he did, after he ate his food, he ran through the living room and said that we should put the ornaments on the tree."
"Well, Spike(my parents dog) said that it's too damn early to put a Christmas tree up and if you want to put the ornaments on the tree you should freakin' do it yourself."
I hate when people talk through animals. Fuckhead and I did it for like a year and a half as a way to diffuse our aggression with eachother. I'm going to go ahead and say, if you get a dog and you start talking through it in a messed up voice to be cute; get rid of that dog immediately, or the boyfriend.
I love the movie White Christmas, but as I type and breathe, Mom has turned on the movie in an effort to draw me away from the computer. I know your tricks, woman. I will play your game and adorn your tree, but in return you shall fill my gas tank and I will secretly drink you craptacular wine selection. Merry effing Christmas.
I have seriously only been awake for 9 min. I got up and came outside and stood in the sun room where we put the lights on the tree yesterday.
Mom: "Graham says that we should put the ornaments on the tree today, he, he!"
Me: "......what?"
"He, he, he Graham said that we should put the ornaments on the tree today."
"No he didn't."
"Yes he did, after he ate his food, he ran through the living room and said that we should put the ornaments on the tree."
"Well, Spike(my parents dog) said that it's too damn early to put a Christmas tree up and if you want to put the ornaments on the tree you should freakin' do it yourself."
I hate when people talk through animals. Fuckhead and I did it for like a year and a half as a way to diffuse our aggression with eachother. I'm going to go ahead and say, if you get a dog and you start talking through it in a messed up voice to be cute; get rid of that dog immediately, or the boyfriend.
I love the movie White Christmas, but as I type and breathe, Mom has turned on the movie in an effort to draw me away from the computer. I know your tricks, woman. I will play your game and adorn your tree, but in return you shall fill my gas tank and I will secretly drink you craptacular wine selection. Merry effing Christmas.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Black Friday Indeed
*Editor's note: Sorry Kristy, I have already told you most of what is in this post, so you don't have to read this; but that will cut my readership in half. No pressure.
Hello all,
Picture it: Me face down in my bed, 9:30, or as I call it, dusk, and Mom walks in to get linens off of a rack in my room.
Mom: "Noah wake up. Dad needs help setting up the Christmas tree and someone's dog pooped downstairs."
Noah: "Was it your dog?"
"No."
"Was it Dad's dog?"
"No."
"Was it my dog?"
"Yes. Well anyways, someone needs to go and take care of it, I mean Dad already picked it up but SOMEBODY needs to get their dog under control."
"Do you need to get your dog under control?"
"No."
"Does Dad need to get his dog under control?"
"No."
"Are you talking about me?"
"Yes, and anyways it's 9:30!"
Omigod, everyday I claw at wallpapered walls whimpering, "No way out, no way out." I got out of bed and went into the living room and Dad said, "There's no use in taking him out. I took him outside and he took a dump and then I brought him inside and he took a dump again. He doesn't have anything left to dump."
I had been awake for 2 min. and Mom was providing evidence of how I am not related to her and I had heard "dump" 3 times. I could already tell it was not going to be a good day. I was supposed to go to the bar where I'm going to start working today for training. It's the Claddagh which sounds like an Irish STD to me. They were out of the legal papers needed to admit new employees, fired the manager who would be in charge of training me, and the other manager was on vacation. So, I hopped in my magical gasless car and wooshed home.
I'm not going to explain the agony that was my Thanksgiving at home, but I'll give you some bullet points
- The stuffing resembled a peppery broth jello.
-I was stuck hearing our entire family history (the uninteresting side) told bu my aunt who had various mayonnaise based salads all over her mouth.
-I had to run into town to get more yams and was in the wine isle of the grocery store looking longingly at every bottle for 10 min before returning home with only yams. Tear. Sober holidays are no one's friend.
- I played solitaire for 3 hours.
-As my super recluse, awkward uncle came in the door he looked at me and said,
Him: "Hi, how are you?"
Me: "Good, how are you?"
"Good..... how are you?"
"?..... Good, how are you?"
"Good, no really, I haven't seen you for 2 years, Noah, so how are you?
"Um.....good, how are you?"
He threw some rolls into my arms, I dropped them in the kitchen and went to the bathroom and cried for 8 min. Why? Clearly I'm taking LSD and am not awake for the fun part of the drug. I had to get my face back together to go back out for the meal, so I tracked my face to follow the oscillating fan in my dad's bathroom. That was a sight. Me sniffling as I followed a small fan in a semi-circle 9 in. from my dad's bathroom mirror. At this rate, Christmas is going to be awesome.
By this time, I was supposed to have received an email from Fuckhead about getting the remainder of my things and possibly a small fraction of anything that we ever owned together. I have received nothing. I want him to be dead so much. I don't want to kill him, I just want him to be dead. Does that make me a bad person? I don't think so either. Like, if someone came to my door and asked me if they should kill Fuckhead for me, the first thing out my mouth wouldn't be yes or no, it would be "How?". I need to make sure that it was humiliating, but not in a way that would emote sympathy from anyone, and thorough. The details would be like a cozy blanket to me.
Gosh, as I reread that I sound a little psycho.....huh. But yes, dead.
Hello all,
Picture it: Me face down in my bed, 9:30, or as I call it, dusk, and Mom walks in to get linens off of a rack in my room.
Mom: "Noah wake up. Dad needs help setting up the Christmas tree and someone's dog pooped downstairs."
Noah: "Was it your dog?"
"No."
"Was it Dad's dog?"
"No."
"Was it my dog?"
"Yes. Well anyways, someone needs to go and take care of it, I mean Dad already picked it up but SOMEBODY needs to get their dog under control."
"Do you need to get your dog under control?"
"No."
"Does Dad need to get his dog under control?"
"No."
"Are you talking about me?"
"Yes, and anyways it's 9:30!"
Omigod, everyday I claw at wallpapered walls whimpering, "No way out, no way out." I got out of bed and went into the living room and Dad said, "There's no use in taking him out. I took him outside and he took a dump and then I brought him inside and he took a dump again. He doesn't have anything left to dump."
I had been awake for 2 min. and Mom was providing evidence of how I am not related to her and I had heard "dump" 3 times. I could already tell it was not going to be a good day. I was supposed to go to the bar where I'm going to start working today for training. It's the Claddagh which sounds like an Irish STD to me. They were out of the legal papers needed to admit new employees, fired the manager who would be in charge of training me, and the other manager was on vacation. So, I hopped in my magical gasless car and wooshed home.
I'm not going to explain the agony that was my Thanksgiving at home, but I'll give you some bullet points
- The stuffing resembled a peppery broth jello.
-I was stuck hearing our entire family history (the uninteresting side) told bu my aunt who had various mayonnaise based salads all over her mouth.
-I had to run into town to get more yams and was in the wine isle of the grocery store looking longingly at every bottle for 10 min before returning home with only yams. Tear. Sober holidays are no one's friend.
- I played solitaire for 3 hours.
-As my super recluse, awkward uncle came in the door he looked at me and said,
Him: "Hi, how are you?"
Me: "Good, how are you?"
"Good..... how are you?"
"?..... Good, how are you?"
"Good, no really, I haven't seen you for 2 years, Noah, so how are you?
"Um.....good, how are you?"
He threw some rolls into my arms, I dropped them in the kitchen and went to the bathroom and cried for 8 min. Why? Clearly I'm taking LSD and am not awake for the fun part of the drug. I had to get my face back together to go back out for the meal, so I tracked my face to follow the oscillating fan in my dad's bathroom. That was a sight. Me sniffling as I followed a small fan in a semi-circle 9 in. from my dad's bathroom mirror. At this rate, Christmas is going to be awesome.
By this time, I was supposed to have received an email from Fuckhead about getting the remainder of my things and possibly a small fraction of anything that we ever owned together. I have received nothing. I want him to be dead so much. I don't want to kill him, I just want him to be dead. Does that make me a bad person? I don't think so either. Like, if someone came to my door and asked me if they should kill Fuckhead for me, the first thing out my mouth wouldn't be yes or no, it would be "How?". I need to make sure that it was humiliating, but not in a way that would emote sympathy from anyone, and thorough. The details would be like a cozy blanket to me.
Gosh, as I reread that I sound a little psycho.....huh. But yes, dead.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
I Need Vodka NOW!!!!
Hello all,
Happy Thanksgiving Eve!, which my dad told me is now a holiday/reason to go to church. Seriously, my parents went to church tonight with the only reason being Thanksgiving Eve. WTF. Didn't the pilgrims come here because they wanted to get away from strict religion and rape Indians......Native Americans.......whatever.
I have been helping Mom make the dinner for tomorrow, and I need a drink so badly. Is that the sign of being alcoholic? If it is, I'm an alcoholic and and I have no desire to go to rehab. She is constantly starring at me and asking me patronizing questions. I am trying so hard not to answer with, "No duh bitch, how 'bout you follow me into the bathroom and watch me wipe my own ass? I am not a fucking idiot and can read a recipe just fine without you translating it into "retarded". " This could be misconstrued as hateful and I feel like I'll need to save that emotion for Christmas.
But really, I need a drink. I also have some really devastating news. I know this may come as a shock to many of you who know me and I am having a very hard time dealing with the significant life change that lies ahead of me. I don't really know how to say this.........I think I might be becoming lactose intolerant!!! AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!! Gay, no problem, devastated and single, no problem, living at home for an undetermined period of time,......not as big of a problem, lactose intolerant-PROBLEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I don't know what I'm going to do. Cheese is such a big part of my life. Seriously, if I didn't wake up tomorrow, I'd be OK with that. I need a drink or 7.
*****************
OK, so right now as I am typing, my parents dog woke up my dad and he is now standing 4 ft. away from me in his underwear, letting the dog outside. This is going to show up in a session with my psychologist in the not too distant future. I was supposed to be living in NYC with a boyfriend, who didn't cheat on me with some 19 year old, dancing on Broadway, and living the life of some young, awesome person. Instead, I am living in parents house, pining to use my degree to get a job in an Irish pub (where people will think I work there just because of my red hair), crying on a daily basis as I watch Grey's Anatomy on DVD, lactose intolerant and sitting 4 ft. away from my dad in a pair of white briefs.
"Hey, Noah! Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, what are you thankful for?"
Me: " ..............................................."
If this is the point in the story of my life where I build lots of character and become a more independent and better for the experience.......I'm out! I'm not interested! I thought I was chock full of character before this! End of the rope, fat lady has sung, t'ain't no mo!! I'M OUT!!!!!
Happy Thanksgiving Eve!, which my dad told me is now a holiday/reason to go to church. Seriously, my parents went to church tonight with the only reason being Thanksgiving Eve. WTF. Didn't the pilgrims come here because they wanted to get away from strict religion and rape Indians......Native Americans.......whatever.
I have been helping Mom make the dinner for tomorrow, and I need a drink so badly. Is that the sign of being alcoholic? If it is, I'm an alcoholic and and I have no desire to go to rehab. She is constantly starring at me and asking me patronizing questions. I am trying so hard not to answer with, "No duh bitch, how 'bout you follow me into the bathroom and watch me wipe my own ass? I am not a fucking idiot and can read a recipe just fine without you translating it into "retarded". " This could be misconstrued as hateful and I feel like I'll need to save that emotion for Christmas.
But really, I need a drink. I also have some really devastating news. I know this may come as a shock to many of you who know me and I am having a very hard time dealing with the significant life change that lies ahead of me. I don't really know how to say this.........I think I might be becoming lactose intolerant!!! AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!! Gay, no problem, devastated and single, no problem, living at home for an undetermined period of time,......not as big of a problem, lactose intolerant-PROBLEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I don't know what I'm going to do. Cheese is such a big part of my life. Seriously, if I didn't wake up tomorrow, I'd be OK with that. I need a drink or 7.
*****************
OK, so right now as I am typing, my parents dog woke up my dad and he is now standing 4 ft. away from me in his underwear, letting the dog outside. This is going to show up in a session with my psychologist in the not too distant future. I was supposed to be living in NYC with a boyfriend, who didn't cheat on me with some 19 year old, dancing on Broadway, and living the life of some young, awesome person. Instead, I am living in parents house, pining to use my degree to get a job in an Irish pub (where people will think I work there just because of my red hair), crying on a daily basis as I watch Grey's Anatomy on DVD, lactose intolerant and sitting 4 ft. away from my dad in a pair of white briefs.
"Hey, Noah! Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, what are you thankful for?"
Me: " ..............................................."
If this is the point in the story of my life where I build lots of character and become a more independent and better for the experience.......I'm out! I'm not interested! I thought I was chock full of character before this! End of the rope, fat lady has sung, t'ain't no mo!! I'M OUT!!!!!
Monday, November 24, 2008
Blood in the Water
Hello all,
Greetings from the couch. Dad is home this week from work and the good times just keep on coming. He is working his way through some straight to TV movies that my brother and sister-in-law gave him. I don’t know if these movies were supposed to be a joke or what, but for any relatives of mine who read this blog:
DO NOT GIVE THEM ANY MOVIES THAT I HAVE NOT APPROVED! WE HAVE ONE TV AND I HAVE TO WATCH EVERYTHING THEY WATCH!
There is a reason these movies went straight to TV. And now I have a fun-filled week full of awkward movies. Thanks.
Last week I was invited to a holiday party and it’s been all that I have been thinking about. The name of the party is “Another Gay Christmas,” there will be gays galore and is being thrown by an old high school friend. I have been trying to find a friend/wingman to come with me so I’d have someone to talk to in case the party’s a bust or I magically turn into a wallflower. All of my friends have spouses, serious jobs, or no interest in coming with me, so I decided yesterday to have the chutzpah to go by myself. Well, today I was looking over the invite list on Facebook and who has replied yes to coming to the party……….
The guy from the bar who was on my brother’s soccer team!! Seriously!! WTF! Quit playing games with my heart!
Now I know he’s not gay and that’s not the problem, the problem is only 14 people have responded yes to going (I have not yet) and I don’t want to be stuck there like some weird townie parana, hunting for the questioning locals. I’m going to look like a crazy stalker! Even more so, the party is all the way in Indy and I can’t get too drunk (alcohol = liquid confidence = good times) because I’ll have to drive myself home. Years ago, this would not be an issue because I would either drive drunk or would bank on going home with someone. But now, I have a new car and a wardrobe of oddly tighter clothes that prove both of those options impossible.
Greetings from the couch. Dad is home this week from work and the good times just keep on coming. He is working his way through some straight to TV movies that my brother and sister-in-law gave him. I don’t know if these movies were supposed to be a joke or what, but for any relatives of mine who read this blog:
DO NOT GIVE THEM ANY MOVIES THAT I HAVE NOT APPROVED! WE HAVE ONE TV AND I HAVE TO WATCH EVERYTHING THEY WATCH!
There is a reason these movies went straight to TV. And now I have a fun-filled week full of awkward movies. Thanks.
Last week I was invited to a holiday party and it’s been all that I have been thinking about. The name of the party is “Another Gay Christmas,” there will be gays galore and is being thrown by an old high school friend. I have been trying to find a friend/wingman to come with me so I’d have someone to talk to in case the party’s a bust or I magically turn into a wallflower. All of my friends have spouses, serious jobs, or no interest in coming with me, so I decided yesterday to have the chutzpah to go by myself. Well, today I was looking over the invite list on Facebook and who has replied yes to coming to the party……….
The guy from the bar who was on my brother’s soccer team!! Seriously!! WTF! Quit playing games with my heart!
Now I know he’s not gay and that’s not the problem, the problem is only 14 people have responded yes to going (I have not yet) and I don’t want to be stuck there like some weird townie parana, hunting for the questioning locals. I’m going to look like a crazy stalker! Even more so, the party is all the way in Indy and I can’t get too drunk (alcohol = liquid confidence = good times) because I’ll have to drive myself home. Years ago, this would not be an issue because I would either drive drunk or would bank on going home with someone. But now, I have a new car and a wardrobe of oddly tighter clothes that prove both of those options impossible.
Holiday Spirits
Hello all,
I am writing you today from my parent’s sun room while they talk to my oldest brother and his wife about how prescription drugs are a conspiracy.
Mom: “I ‘m going to start to cut down on what drugs I take. I don’t think I need all of these. I think the doctor just prescribes what he wants to sell the most of.”
Dad: “Yeah, that doctor’s a quack. He’s running a cattle market out of his office.”
Mom: “I think so too. I’m going to start taking just my blood pressure pill. All those other ones are just not doing anything.”
I’m sure. I’m really sure he’s giving you sugar pills and placebos. If my parents are any indicator of what I will be like when I get old……kill me now. I want my life to be like Seinfeld. Not a show about nothing, but end while I’m on top. (Insert gay joke here)
Yesterday was our big family Thanksgiving, and it was followed up with a familial field trip to the local townie bar. What to say, what to say….there are just some things about my family I never wanted to know. I mean, down the road I know it will be beneficial to know that it’s more effective to snort some pills rather than swallow them, but I really don’t want to learn that from someone I used to play hide and seek with at Grandma’s house. Just so I don’t get any family members in trouble, I’ll just skip the immediate company conversation and just talk about the bar.
The bar, Donnie’s, I was expecting to be some dark corner of hell, and it could have been the day of drinking that preceded it, but it really wasn’t all that bad. My whole evening there felt like the first 20 min. of Moulin Rouge, colorful and hallucinogenic. Who knew that some magical liquid called “Windsor” would be my absinthe? It was band night which drew in an abnormally youthful crowd resulting in the most awkward and depressing high school reunion that I could have imagined. Luckily enough I was “budunk”, my cousin’s word for that place between buzzed and drunk, and every person I ever passed in the hall 7 years ago was now a long lost friend. I wasn’t too popular in high school so I was really surprised how many people knew my name, my usual response was, “Heeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy………………………yyyaaa,” having no clue what their name actually was.
There was this guy there from my brother’s high school soccer team that I used to have such a big crush on. My cousin said that he had heard that he was “homo”, so I went over to talk to him. He was a little bigger than what I remember him being and had a 4 inch beard, but he was still cute and had the whole Gerard Butler thing going for him. 4 years of college psychology had made him very sincere and interesting and we had a very pleasant conversation. He was playing in one of the bands and so I returned to my family table and told them what we had talked about and further expressed my interest in him. My cousin asked me if I wanted him to go over and ask him if he was gay/available. I never thought that this particular cousin would be my wingman, but in my world hell freezes over every day. So, he went to go ask him and returned within the minute. Apparently he was not gay and the whole proposition did not go well and the rest of the evening was spent dodging awkward glances. There were a few other gay people there, but they were a couple and had those big metal rings in their earlobes and pierced lips. You’d think that I’d be desperate enough to pursue that, but ear hoops, pierced lips; seriously, I’m not in college anymore.
Most of the day today was spent recouping and explaining to my nephews why I wasn’t going to church with them:
God is fake?
Gay people go to hell?
The Sunday morning show on CBS is much more entertaining?
I’m a little hung over?
All of these were options but I just told them that I had to watch the dogs and make sure they didn’t try to put on any of their clothes and have a party.
I am writing you today from my parent’s sun room while they talk to my oldest brother and his wife about how prescription drugs are a conspiracy.
Mom: “I ‘m going to start to cut down on what drugs I take. I don’t think I need all of these. I think the doctor just prescribes what he wants to sell the most of.”
Dad: “Yeah, that doctor’s a quack. He’s running a cattle market out of his office.”
Mom: “I think so too. I’m going to start taking just my blood pressure pill. All those other ones are just not doing anything.”
I’m sure. I’m really sure he’s giving you sugar pills and placebos. If my parents are any indicator of what I will be like when I get old……kill me now. I want my life to be like Seinfeld. Not a show about nothing, but end while I’m on top. (Insert gay joke here)
Yesterday was our big family Thanksgiving, and it was followed up with a familial field trip to the local townie bar. What to say, what to say….there are just some things about my family I never wanted to know. I mean, down the road I know it will be beneficial to know that it’s more effective to snort some pills rather than swallow them, but I really don’t want to learn that from someone I used to play hide and seek with at Grandma’s house. Just so I don’t get any family members in trouble, I’ll just skip the immediate company conversation and just talk about the bar.
The bar, Donnie’s, I was expecting to be some dark corner of hell, and it could have been the day of drinking that preceded it, but it really wasn’t all that bad. My whole evening there felt like the first 20 min. of Moulin Rouge, colorful and hallucinogenic. Who knew that some magical liquid called “Windsor” would be my absinthe? It was band night which drew in an abnormally youthful crowd resulting in the most awkward and depressing high school reunion that I could have imagined. Luckily enough I was “budunk”, my cousin’s word for that place between buzzed and drunk, and every person I ever passed in the hall 7 years ago was now a long lost friend. I wasn’t too popular in high school so I was really surprised how many people knew my name, my usual response was, “Heeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy………………………yyyaaa,” having no clue what their name actually was.
There was this guy there from my brother’s high school soccer team that I used to have such a big crush on. My cousin said that he had heard that he was “homo”, so I went over to talk to him. He was a little bigger than what I remember him being and had a 4 inch beard, but he was still cute and had the whole Gerard Butler thing going for him. 4 years of college psychology had made him very sincere and interesting and we had a very pleasant conversation. He was playing in one of the bands and so I returned to my family table and told them what we had talked about and further expressed my interest in him. My cousin asked me if I wanted him to go over and ask him if he was gay/available. I never thought that this particular cousin would be my wingman, but in my world hell freezes over every day. So, he went to go ask him and returned within the minute. Apparently he was not gay and the whole proposition did not go well and the rest of the evening was spent dodging awkward glances. There were a few other gay people there, but they were a couple and had those big metal rings in their earlobes and pierced lips. You’d think that I’d be desperate enough to pursue that, but ear hoops, pierced lips; seriously, I’m not in college anymore.
Most of the day today was spent recouping and explaining to my nephews why I wasn’t going to church with them:
God is fake?
Gay people go to hell?
The Sunday morning show on CBS is much more entertaining?
I’m a little hung over?
All of these were options but I just told them that I had to watch the dogs and make sure they didn’t try to put on any of their clothes and have a party.
Friday, November 21, 2008
The Glamorous Life of an Orphan
Hello all,
I am writing you today from my childhood bedroom that has become my adult bedroom, with no changes done to it except for my dog. He has a bed in the center of the room even though he sleeps on my bed or laundry. I am in my room in a fit of defiance against my parents. As a child, one might be sent to his room for mouthing off or having “too much attitude Noah Joseph!!”, like my middle name ever scared me, but as an adult I go to my room to show them that I don’t need to take their crazy ways, nonsense, and constant bitching. I will give them the ultimate sentence, I will take away my awesomeness and wait for them to come crawling back to me. They will say, “Oh Noah, we’re so sorry. Please tell us about your day. Oh, you are so interesting and we are such complete assholes.”
I have been doing this for 3 days and nothing.
I was in the living room when they came home, thinking that I would be the adult and move things along, start fresh, and continue life, but no. They are still the same assholes they were the day before. The day before I made a German Chocolate cake for a dinner with Grandma and Grandpa that I would not be attending, there was a cliff to be jumped off of with my name all over it. Anyways, I made the cake, I am a very good cook, but as I poured the batter into the baking dish, it wouldn’t even out; I blame the 5 cent cake mix. It looked like a wavy field of wheat, with hills and valleys all over it, and would not flatten out. I thought that maybe it would bake out flat, it did not. I iced it, did the best I could and left Mom a note:
Mom,
I am so sorry about the cake. I thought it would even out like brownie batter, but it didn’t. I’m sure it still tastes fine. Though, if it does not taste fine you can go downstairs and get some Lego men and play “all terrain adventure”.
With this note and the valleys of the cake having a strong resemblance to unleavened bread, and that that might appeal to a religious woman, I thought it was no problem. Clearly I was wrong.
“Hi Mom, how was dinner”
“Fine.”
“Ok, what did Grandma and Grandpa have to say?”
“Nothing.”
“What the hell is your problem?”
Sigh “What did you do to the cake?!?!?!”
“Are you seriously bitching at me because of a cake that I made for YOUR dinner?”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know! It just baked like that!”
No appreciation, no appreciation at all. Dad comes home everyday and asks me when the dogs were taken out last. I could 10 hours or 10 minutes. He will take off his jacket while he’s asking me and then put it back on and take the dogs outside. BITCH, I JUST DID IT.
The other day, just to make a kamikaze attempt at a conversation, I told Dad that I had gotten up at 10:30.
Sigh “That’s pretty late.”
“Well Dad, I usually don’t go to bed until 2 or 3.”
Sigh “Well that’s pretty late too.”
“I’m just not tired at night.”
“Well, that’s cause you’re not waking up until 10 or 11 in the morning.”
“Well, that’s cause I’m not going to bed until 2 or 3.”
“That’s too late.”
“Well, when I didn’t wake up until 10 or 11 it’s not really that late.”
“Well then, you should go to bed earlier.”
“But I’m not tired, and I’m only sleeping 8 hours.”
It continued on like this for a few minutes. It was like some fucked up version of “Who’s on First?”. Last week the palms of my hands were very dry and peeling for no reason. I don’t do manual labor, use weird chemicals; I had no idea why they were peeling. I had almost settled on the conclusion that in my odd hours of sleep I was going into my parent’s bedroom and taking turns strangling each of them in hope to start living the glamorous life of an orphan. That dream was put to rest as I was talking to one of my friends on the phone and she said that when people are really stressed out their hands dry out and peel. If that’s the truth, I should be leaving full body Noah-shaped skin shells around the house on a daily basis.
And lastly, this is a real conversation that happened last night while we were watching Grey's Anatomy. Mom was looking at a holiday magazine:
Me: "I need to get one of those razor blade shear things for Graham's fur. It gets more hair out than brushing and it cuts down on shedding."
Mom: "Well, you can always put it on your Christmas list."
Me: "Ug, I am not even looking forward to Christmas."
Thinking about the holidays, anniversary, birthdays.
Me: "I just want to slip into a comma and wake up in April."
Mom: "...............Well, someone will need to make your car payment."
I gave her a look that would have let any sane person know that that was not the response I was looking for.
Mom: "...........Well, we can't keep paying it forever."
I couldn't make her up if I tried.
I am writing you today from my childhood bedroom that has become my adult bedroom, with no changes done to it except for my dog. He has a bed in the center of the room even though he sleeps on my bed or laundry. I am in my room in a fit of defiance against my parents. As a child, one might be sent to his room for mouthing off or having “too much attitude Noah Joseph!!”, like my middle name ever scared me, but as an adult I go to my room to show them that I don’t need to take their crazy ways, nonsense, and constant bitching. I will give them the ultimate sentence, I will take away my awesomeness and wait for them to come crawling back to me. They will say, “Oh Noah, we’re so sorry. Please tell us about your day. Oh, you are so interesting and we are such complete assholes.”
I have been doing this for 3 days and nothing.
I was in the living room when they came home, thinking that I would be the adult and move things along, start fresh, and continue life, but no. They are still the same assholes they were the day before. The day before I made a German Chocolate cake for a dinner with Grandma and Grandpa that I would not be attending, there was a cliff to be jumped off of with my name all over it. Anyways, I made the cake, I am a very good cook, but as I poured the batter into the baking dish, it wouldn’t even out; I blame the 5 cent cake mix. It looked like a wavy field of wheat, with hills and valleys all over it, and would not flatten out. I thought that maybe it would bake out flat, it did not. I iced it, did the best I could and left Mom a note:
Mom,
I am so sorry about the cake. I thought it would even out like brownie batter, but it didn’t. I’m sure it still tastes fine. Though, if it does not taste fine you can go downstairs and get some Lego men and play “all terrain adventure”.
With this note and the valleys of the cake having a strong resemblance to unleavened bread, and that that might appeal to a religious woman, I thought it was no problem. Clearly I was wrong.
“Hi Mom, how was dinner”
“Fine.”
“Ok, what did Grandma and Grandpa have to say?”
“Nothing.”
“What the hell is your problem?”
Sigh “What did you do to the cake?!?!?!”
“Are you seriously bitching at me because of a cake that I made for YOUR dinner?”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know! It just baked like that!”
No appreciation, no appreciation at all. Dad comes home everyday and asks me when the dogs were taken out last. I could 10 hours or 10 minutes. He will take off his jacket while he’s asking me and then put it back on and take the dogs outside. BITCH, I JUST DID IT.
The other day, just to make a kamikaze attempt at a conversation, I told Dad that I had gotten up at 10:30.
Sigh “That’s pretty late.”
“Well Dad, I usually don’t go to bed until 2 or 3.”
Sigh “Well that’s pretty late too.”
“I’m just not tired at night.”
“Well, that’s cause you’re not waking up until 10 or 11 in the morning.”
“Well, that’s cause I’m not going to bed until 2 or 3.”
“That’s too late.”
“Well, when I didn’t wake up until 10 or 11 it’s not really that late.”
“Well then, you should go to bed earlier.”
“But I’m not tired, and I’m only sleeping 8 hours.”
It continued on like this for a few minutes. It was like some fucked up version of “Who’s on First?”. Last week the palms of my hands were very dry and peeling for no reason. I don’t do manual labor, use weird chemicals; I had no idea why they were peeling. I had almost settled on the conclusion that in my odd hours of sleep I was going into my parent’s bedroom and taking turns strangling each of them in hope to start living the glamorous life of an orphan. That dream was put to rest as I was talking to one of my friends on the phone and she said that when people are really stressed out their hands dry out and peel. If that’s the truth, I should be leaving full body Noah-shaped skin shells around the house on a daily basis.
And lastly, this is a real conversation that happened last night while we were watching Grey's Anatomy. Mom was looking at a holiday magazine:
Me: "I need to get one of those razor blade shear things for Graham's fur. It gets more hair out than brushing and it cuts down on shedding."
Mom: "Well, you can always put it on your Christmas list."
Me: "Ug, I am not even looking forward to Christmas."
Thinking about the holidays, anniversary, birthdays.
Me: "I just want to slip into a comma and wake up in April."
Mom: "...............Well, someone will need to make your car payment."
I gave her a look that would have let any sane person know that that was not the response I was looking for.
Mom: "...........Well, we can't keep paying it forever."
I couldn't make her up if I tried.
Friday, November 14, 2008
A Life in the Movies
Hello all,
I am writing you today from the Borders at Keystone and am wondering why the movies are the way they are when life isn't like that at all. Doesn't art imitate life or vise versa, either way they should be more like eachother. For instance, there is a naturally blonde-haired man sitting across from me and we have exchanged a few glances, he is reading an odd combination of Design Outdoors (some decorator mag for log cabins) and Vibe magazine. Gay? He has not yet smiled at me but he is constantly looking at me. He's cute enough, 5'11, blue eyes, good hair. But seriously, if we were in the movies, we'd be exchanging witty banter and numbers by now.
I think because of my parents focus on my active older brothers and me being raised mainly by TV, I have acquired a delusional version of reality on which to base my life choices. Like, I am still not over the whole break up thing, seriously, I cry everyday! EVERYDAY! It's like someone is pumping my body full of estrogen every night and not telling me. Indie music at the end of Grey's Anatomy on DVD-CRY, listening to any song on the radio-CRY, getting ready for bed at night-CRY. ALL THE TIME- CRY. In the movies I'd be totally OK after a musical montage, I'm thinking maybe something by Leona Lewis or maybe J. Hud......ooh or Fantasia.
Christ on a stick!
Even on Sex and the City, Carrie got some rebound guy and cried in his mouth while she was trying to get over Big. Where's my rebound guy?!?! Mom said last night that I needed to focus on my career (what career?) or maybe on exercise (so now I'm fat?) to get my mind off of how crappy things are. Ug, stock answers. If she would have gotten someone from Pushing Daisies or Frasier to say that I would think maybe she was right. But who am I to believe her?
Oh, if life were like TV or the movies.... Well, for starters, the blonde-haired guy, who has already left, would have come up to me and invited out to see the preview of the new Disney movie Bolt in 3D and then we would have taken a meandering walk by the canal, where he would invite me to his town house 2 blocks away. After that, we would open a bottle of red (It's so late! What am I thinking? Oh, I hadn't noticed how late it was.) and fall asleep, simultaneously, in eachother's arms on his sectional sofa until I was awaken by brunch the next day with no sign of bed head or that I had drooled all over the pillow.
I am writing you today from the Borders at Keystone and am wondering why the movies are the way they are when life isn't like that at all. Doesn't art imitate life or vise versa, either way they should be more like eachother. For instance, there is a naturally blonde-haired man sitting across from me and we have exchanged a few glances, he is reading an odd combination of Design Outdoors (some decorator mag for log cabins) and Vibe magazine. Gay? He has not yet smiled at me but he is constantly looking at me. He's cute enough, 5'11, blue eyes, good hair. But seriously, if we were in the movies, we'd be exchanging witty banter and numbers by now.
I think because of my parents focus on my active older brothers and me being raised mainly by TV, I have acquired a delusional version of reality on which to base my life choices. Like, I am still not over the whole break up thing, seriously, I cry everyday! EVERYDAY! It's like someone is pumping my body full of estrogen every night and not telling me. Indie music at the end of Grey's Anatomy on DVD-CRY, listening to any song on the radio-CRY, getting ready for bed at night-CRY. ALL THE TIME- CRY. In the movies I'd be totally OK after a musical montage, I'm thinking maybe something by Leona Lewis or maybe J. Hud......ooh or Fantasia.
Christ on a stick!
Even on Sex and the City, Carrie got some rebound guy and cried in his mouth while she was trying to get over Big. Where's my rebound guy?!?! Mom said last night that I needed to focus on my career (what career?) or maybe on exercise (so now I'm fat?) to get my mind off of how crappy things are. Ug, stock answers. If she would have gotten someone from Pushing Daisies or Frasier to say that I would think maybe she was right. But who am I to believe her?
Oh, if life were like TV or the movies.... Well, for starters, the blonde-haired guy, who has already left, would have come up to me and invited out to see the preview of the new Disney movie Bolt in 3D and then we would have taken a meandering walk by the canal, where he would invite me to his town house 2 blocks away. After that, we would open a bottle of red (It's so late! What am I thinking? Oh, I hadn't noticed how late it was.) and fall asleep, simultaneously, in eachother's arms on his sectional sofa until I was awaken by brunch the next day with no sign of bed head or that I had drooled all over the pillow.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Fuck You, Pendleton Library!
Hello all,
I was writing you a lovely post about giving my dog a bath, I had pictures and everything, but clearly that is not allowed at the Pendleton Community Library. Because CLEARLY pictures of a Scottish Terrier and a plastic tub can be misconstrued as pornography and should therefore be prohibited. My computer keeps on booting me off and it had never done that before. God damn it!
Anyways, I have pictures that would better show the bath tub fiasco, but I guess we'll all have to use our imagination. I got everything ready in the utility room downstairs, and as went to to go get Graham, Mom said,
"Ooh! Can Spike and I come and watch the fun!?!"
"No." and I bolted downstairs with Graham flung over my shoulder.
Lengthwise, Graham had about a foot of room to wiggle around in and only 6 inches on the sides. As far as depth was concerned it was perfectly fine. So the instant I dipped Graham into the tub he bounced out like a Mexican jumping bean and I was completely wet. And nothing says were in for a fun afternoon like wet jeans and socks. Washing him was no problem, but drying him was suddenly a problem. Was I supposed to lift a sopping wet dog, whose first instinct was to shake for about 20 min. out of a plastic tub? Luckily enough, Mom had come down to nose in and she was able to rinse the soap off of him while held him calmly. She then had to dump the water out milk jug by milk jug at a time until I was able to lift him out of the tub and onto the towels. He then proceeded to shake all over me, awesome.
I went upstairs after it was all over and Mom, Dad and I sat down for our nightly routine.
Mom: Well, that worked out pretty well, didn't it?
Me: Uh, yeah, I guess.
Dad: Yeah, Mom told me how it was and I need to get some kind of drainage thing worked out so it's easier to get the water out.
Me: Oh, you mean like a bath tub?
God!!! If my life wasn't tedious enough, I have do deal with the logic of Tweedle-Dad and Tweedle-Mom; where they can't understand what someone is saying based on their color, we eat dinner at 4:30, only have pleasant conversations while talking about the weather, and think that jerry rigging some storage bin downstairs makes more sense for washing a dog than a regular bath tub! Lord take me now.
I was writing you a lovely post about giving my dog a bath, I had pictures and everything, but clearly that is not allowed at the Pendleton Community Library. Because CLEARLY pictures of a Scottish Terrier and a plastic tub can be misconstrued as pornography and should therefore be prohibited. My computer keeps on booting me off and it had never done that before. God damn it!
Anyways, I have pictures that would better show the bath tub fiasco, but I guess we'll all have to use our imagination. I got everything ready in the utility room downstairs, and as went to to go get Graham, Mom said,
"Ooh! Can Spike and I come and watch the fun!?!"
"No." and I bolted downstairs with Graham flung over my shoulder.
Lengthwise, Graham had about a foot of room to wiggle around in and only 6 inches on the sides. As far as depth was concerned it was perfectly fine. So the instant I dipped Graham into the tub he bounced out like a Mexican jumping bean and I was completely wet. And nothing says were in for a fun afternoon like wet jeans and socks. Washing him was no problem, but drying him was suddenly a problem. Was I supposed to lift a sopping wet dog, whose first instinct was to shake for about 20 min. out of a plastic tub? Luckily enough, Mom had come down to nose in and she was able to rinse the soap off of him while held him calmly. She then had to dump the water out milk jug by milk jug at a time until I was able to lift him out of the tub and onto the towels. He then proceeded to shake all over me, awesome.
I went upstairs after it was all over and Mom, Dad and I sat down for our nightly routine.
Mom: Well, that worked out pretty well, didn't it?
Me: Uh, yeah, I guess.
Dad: Yeah, Mom told me how it was and I need to get some kind of drainage thing worked out so it's easier to get the water out.
Me: Oh, you mean like a bath tub?
God!!! If my life wasn't tedious enough, I have do deal with the logic of Tweedle-Dad and Tweedle-Mom; where they can't understand what someone is saying based on their color, we eat dinner at 4:30, only have pleasant conversations while talking about the weather, and think that jerry rigging some storage bin downstairs makes more sense for washing a dog than a regular bath tub! Lord take me now.
I hate being in my house, but I'm just not ready to give up that something lucky is going to happen to me and work in some awful job. Even though there isn't too much around the house that reminds me of Fuckhead, I look at the fireplace and see all the pictures and I'm all alone even up there. Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, all my brothers and all their wives, even my nephew's pictures are in pairs. There they are two by two and becomes evident that my name is Noah and there is an ark joke wrapped up in there somewhere. I watch TV and there are so many unattractive people, perfectly happy being married to one another, but HELLO? I'm good looking and right here! Yes, I'm living with my parents, have no job, and no assets to get me out of this situation, but even the ark Noah had a wife and he was like 700 years old.
I normally don't reference Noah's Ark things in direct correlation to myself but I swear it made sense last night as I was watching Craig Furguson. Let's see what else makes sense:
I like animals.
I like boats.
I am waiting for inspiration to give me direction in my life.
I got drunk and exposed myself to my son and ......................... wait that didn't happen to me, well at least not the son part.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Light Bulbs and Bath Tubs
Hello all,
So, the other day I was talking to one of my friends on the phone, I had not talked to him in a few months and he didn't know about my journey to hell(NY) and back. I told him about looking at grad schools, how my life was a hot ghetto mess, everything. He said that he knew going to see Fuckhead was a bad idea the moment I said it and that as far as grad school was concerned, I probably wouldn't be happy with my decision if I rushed all of the application stuff to have it sent there by Dec 1st. He said that he went through a bit of self discovery while he began and left grad school after 1 semester and was now focused on just being happy.
Honest to God here was my reaction, "............................?huh." Happy? Happy. Happy, huh. I had seriously never thought about what would make me happy. Seriously! The whole time I was getting fucked over by Fuckhead, looking at grad schools, finding some crap-ass job, leaving a million messages and texts to Fuckhead about us and getting back my stuff back, and lying around the house with the dogs seeing that they do more in a day than I do, the idea of what would make me happy never crossed into my head. It all seems very Thoreau, whom I have always enjoyed, but I have no idea what would make me happy.
A few million dollars?.......Probably.
A hot new dating prospect?....... Maybe.
The everlasting musculature of a Greek god?........ Definitely.
Knowing that Fuckhead was thrown under a subway train and the remains of his body were eaten by rats that soon after died because of a rare disease contracted from his carcass named Douche-bag-asshole-itus? ..........It's hard to say what might do the trick.
About a few weeks after I got home, the first time, I gave Graham a bath in my mom's tub while she was at school. I cleaned everything but still told her that I had done it, just to make conversation. After she was done freaking out that I washed a dog in her bath tub, she went to reclean it and made me promise that I would never give him a bath in her tub again. Well a few days ago I noticed that Graham was smelling like roadkill and asked Mom how I was supposed to clean him.
"Well, can't you wash him in the sink?"
"Mom, he weighs 35 lbs. No I can't wash him in the sink."
"Well then, I don't know what to tell ya, cause you're not washing him in my tub."
"Fine, fantastic, I'm not asking to wash him in your tub. All I am saying is that if he can not be washed in your tub, where millions of people wash their dogs everyday, you need to think of where I can wash him."
"Fine."
The following Sunday, after Mom and Dad got home from church, Mom came smiling into the house and said that she had found a solution for the problem of where to wash Graham. Knowing that they had just come from church I told her that the baptismal font was not an option.
"He, he, he! No, no, no, go look in the car!"
I returned from the car with a 90 qt. plastic tub. After it was cut up, you could probably fit a dead body in it.
"Well, what do you think?!?"
"Uh......mmm-hm."
"Don't you think that'll work?"
"Um.......yep."
"I just saw it and that it would do the trick and if not I can always use it for storage for my wedding stuff."
"Let me get this straight. I can't wash my dog, who sleeps in my bed, in your tub, but I can wash him in here and if it doesn't work out you will use it for storage for your wedding business, where people rent your wedding stuff, stuff that was stored in a plastic container where I washed my dog?"
"Well, I'll wash it out."
"Like one might wash out a tub?"
"Just use it and tell me if it works or not!"
I will tell you if it works in a later post.
So, the other day I was talking to one of my friends on the phone, I had not talked to him in a few months and he didn't know about my journey to hell(NY) and back. I told him about looking at grad schools, how my life was a hot ghetto mess, everything. He said that he knew going to see Fuckhead was a bad idea the moment I said it and that as far as grad school was concerned, I probably wouldn't be happy with my decision if I rushed all of the application stuff to have it sent there by Dec 1st. He said that he went through a bit of self discovery while he began and left grad school after 1 semester and was now focused on just being happy.
Honest to God here was my reaction, "............................?huh." Happy? Happy. Happy, huh. I had seriously never thought about what would make me happy. Seriously! The whole time I was getting fucked over by Fuckhead, looking at grad schools, finding some crap-ass job, leaving a million messages and texts to Fuckhead about us and getting back my stuff back, and lying around the house with the dogs seeing that they do more in a day than I do, the idea of what would make me happy never crossed into my head. It all seems very Thoreau, whom I have always enjoyed, but I have no idea what would make me happy.
A few million dollars?.......Probably.
A hot new dating prospect?....... Maybe.
The everlasting musculature of a Greek god?........ Definitely.
Knowing that Fuckhead was thrown under a subway train and the remains of his body were eaten by rats that soon after died because of a rare disease contracted from his carcass named Douche-bag-asshole-itus? ..........It's hard to say what might do the trick.
About a few weeks after I got home, the first time, I gave Graham a bath in my mom's tub while she was at school. I cleaned everything but still told her that I had done it, just to make conversation. After she was done freaking out that I washed a dog in her bath tub, she went to reclean it and made me promise that I would never give him a bath in her tub again. Well a few days ago I noticed that Graham was smelling like roadkill and asked Mom how I was supposed to clean him.
"Well, can't you wash him in the sink?"
"Mom, he weighs 35 lbs. No I can't wash him in the sink."
"Well then, I don't know what to tell ya, cause you're not washing him in my tub."
"Fine, fantastic, I'm not asking to wash him in your tub. All I am saying is that if he can not be washed in your tub, where millions of people wash their dogs everyday, you need to think of where I can wash him."
"Fine."
The following Sunday, after Mom and Dad got home from church, Mom came smiling into the house and said that she had found a solution for the problem of where to wash Graham. Knowing that they had just come from church I told her that the baptismal font was not an option.
"He, he, he! No, no, no, go look in the car!"
I returned from the car with a 90 qt. plastic tub. After it was cut up, you could probably fit a dead body in it.
"Well, what do you think?!?"
"Uh......mmm-hm."
"Don't you think that'll work?"
"Um.......yep."
"I just saw it and that it would do the trick and if not I can always use it for storage for my wedding stuff."
"Let me get this straight. I can't wash my dog, who sleeps in my bed, in your tub, but I can wash him in here and if it doesn't work out you will use it for storage for your wedding business, where people rent your wedding stuff, stuff that was stored in a plastic container where I washed my dog?"
"Well, I'll wash it out."
"Like one might wash out a tub?"
"Just use it and tell me if it works or not!"
I will tell you if it works in a later post.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
New Leaf, I Swear........Probably.
Hello All,
So yeah, that last post was an angry one. I'm fine-ish though. From what I can gather by Fuckhead's esoteric messages, I will be getting back my things after Thanksgiving.
I don't mean to make my blog a journal or diary of my life but writing on it is kind of like talking to a dog. You can say anything you want and project what response you want the instant it is written. I know my dog has no idea what's specifically happening to me but he's the best listener ever and those adorable brown eyes are going to hurt whatever dating life lies ahead of me cause no man will have the insightful gaze of my little guy. Mr. Wonderful good luck, come and find me.
I kind of want to date now, cause the performer in me really needs the attention, but as I wander around my parents living room I wonder why I don't meet more eligible bachelors just dripping from the walls. Oh that's right, cause they are clearly at the farm down the road. Can you imagine, me and a ruggedly handsome farmer who is also a financial banker/doctor with a love of classical art and pop culture, who also really wants me to stay at home in one of his 4 houses world wide and focus on being awesome. That would be awesome. If any of you 5 people who read my blog are holdin' out on me and not hooking me up with Mr. Wonderful, may my mom and Oprah's God strike you dead.
On a spiritual note: I used to live by the motto, "Go big, or go home", well look where that got me. I know many of you will stop reading my blog as I write this but stay with me and I'll hammer it out. I was watching Evan Almighty(don't laugh) with the 'rents the other night a line struck me the right way(don't judge me),
"When you ask God for courage, do you think he gives you courage? Or does he give you an opportunity to be courageous?"
Now from what I gather, I don't believe in spirituality, I choose to believe in me. "God" is the projection of people in need, enabling them to surrender problems that they can not change in the moment and know that things work themselves out or it becomes unimportant. This line will become my new motto for a few reasons:
1. Morgan Freeman said it and it sounded amazing. Seriously, watch the end of The Shawshank Redemption. He has that monologue about birds in cages, it's like a whole religion in 55 seconds.
2. I really need to start making my life my own. I gave up so many of my ambitions to Fuckhead and adopted his as my own. But he left me and I had no reason to keep moving forward. This is my opportunity to move forward for myself.
This is a revelation that I had while telling Mom to have more respect for other people in the room while she hemmed and hawed over every state that Obama won last night. Geez lady, have a little respect for "the black", as she said, that will be cleaning up the last 8 years that you voted for, twice.
So yeah, that last post was an angry one. I'm fine-ish though. From what I can gather by Fuckhead's esoteric messages, I will be getting back my things after Thanksgiving.
I don't mean to make my blog a journal or diary of my life but writing on it is kind of like talking to a dog. You can say anything you want and project what response you want the instant it is written. I know my dog has no idea what's specifically happening to me but he's the best listener ever and those adorable brown eyes are going to hurt whatever dating life lies ahead of me cause no man will have the insightful gaze of my little guy. Mr. Wonderful good luck, come and find me.
I kind of want to date now, cause the performer in me really needs the attention, but as I wander around my parents living room I wonder why I don't meet more eligible bachelors just dripping from the walls. Oh that's right, cause they are clearly at the farm down the road. Can you imagine, me and a ruggedly handsome farmer who is also a financial banker/doctor with a love of classical art and pop culture, who also really wants me to stay at home in one of his 4 houses world wide and focus on being awesome. That would be awesome. If any of you 5 people who read my blog are holdin' out on me and not hooking me up with Mr. Wonderful, may my mom and Oprah's God strike you dead.
On a spiritual note: I used to live by the motto, "Go big, or go home", well look where that got me. I know many of you will stop reading my blog as I write this but stay with me and I'll hammer it out. I was watching Evan Almighty(don't laugh) with the 'rents the other night a line struck me the right way(don't judge me),
"When you ask God for courage, do you think he gives you courage? Or does he give you an opportunity to be courageous?"
Now from what I gather, I don't believe in spirituality, I choose to believe in me. "God" is the projection of people in need, enabling them to surrender problems that they can not change in the moment and know that things work themselves out or it becomes unimportant. This line will become my new motto for a few reasons:
1. Morgan Freeman said it and it sounded amazing. Seriously, watch the end of The Shawshank Redemption. He has that monologue about birds in cages, it's like a whole religion in 55 seconds.
2. I really need to start making my life my own. I gave up so many of my ambitions to Fuckhead and adopted his as my own. But he left me and I had no reason to keep moving forward. This is my opportunity to move forward for myself.
This is a revelation that I had while telling Mom to have more respect for other people in the room while she hemmed and hawed over every state that Obama won last night. Geez lady, have a little respect for "the black", as she said, that will be cleaning up the last 8 years that you voted for, twice.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Bad Life Choices
Hello all,
Bad life choices. I'm full of them. Like for instance going to look at my ex-boyfriends blog. I don't know why I do these things to myself. There were all these pictures of him having fun, talking about his new amazing life, all kinds of bull shit like that. And I want him to die. A lot.
I have been trying to contact the mother fucker to give me back the rest of my shit, for 2 reasons.
1. It's mine and he is keeping practically everything we acquired as a couple.
2. I hate you bitch for what you did to me and I wish that I could put my brain in the washer in an "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" feat to get rid of the last 5 1/2 years so that I can reclaim my balls and life to be the best Noah I can be, and if you don't give me my shit, bitch ,I'm gonna come to NY and rip your fucking face off.*
*This is all said mildly in jest. Or is it? You decide.
Fuck head, if you are reading this; GIVE ME MY STUFF OR CONTACT ME FOR WHEN YOU WILL DO SO, SO THAT I WILL NEVER HAVE TO THINK OF YOU AGAIN!!!!!
Bad life choices. I'm full of them. Like for instance going to look at my ex-boyfriends blog. I don't know why I do these things to myself. There were all these pictures of him having fun, talking about his new amazing life, all kinds of bull shit like that. And I want him to die. A lot.
I have been trying to contact the mother fucker to give me back the rest of my shit, for 2 reasons.
1. It's mine and he is keeping practically everything we acquired as a couple.
2. I hate you bitch for what you did to me and I wish that I could put my brain in the washer in an "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" feat to get rid of the last 5 1/2 years so that I can reclaim my balls and life to be the best Noah I can be, and if you don't give me my shit, bitch ,I'm gonna come to NY and rip your fucking face off.*
*This is all said mildly in jest. Or is it? You decide.
Fuck head, if you are reading this; GIVE ME MY STUFF OR CONTACT ME FOR WHEN YOU WILL DO SO, SO THAT I WILL NEVER HAVE TO THINK OF YOU AGAIN!!!!!
Saturday, November 1, 2008
The Scariest Halloween
Hello all,
Picture it, Oct. 30 10:30 pm. Mom had just woken up for one last cognitive thought from the two and a half hour nap she'd been taking since 8, she'd still doze for another hour before swaggering off to bed.
For no reason I asked her, "Mom, what are we doing for Thanksgiving?"
"Well, we're having Rogers' Thanksgiving the Sat. before, and since Aunt Sue had Christmas last I'll have her and Uncle Bob over for Thanksgiving."
"And what about Christmas?"
"We'll, it's kind of the same thing. All of your brothers and everyone will come over on Christmas eve and Sue and Bobbie will come over for Christmas day."
See if you can tell what was audibly happening to me:
"Hmm ohh ooooha ha hahahaha uuuuuuuhhhhhhh oh oh oh God ah ah aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh shif snif oh."
That's right, at first I was laughing for how unfunny and crappy that sounded and thought "Well, if It's gonna suck it might as well suck really bad." And then I thought of the life I had, the awesome life of a couple for the holidays. You get to pick the family you see, miss the awkward family and most of the time is spent listening to fun music in the car, traveling from home to good part of my family to the good part of his family and back to home. Now I get to explain my failed life to people who I have purposefully been avoiding for the last 5 years.
And by the end of my exclamation my eyes were actually filled with tears. I wasn't full on Oprah crying but it was noticeable. That was the beginning of the scariest Halloween.
I woke up on Halloween morning alone. Not only because I am newly separated, but no one else was actually in the house. I spent the whole day alone. How crappy is that! So I waited around all day, watching the Halloween episodes of everything on TV and finally Mom and Dad came home. They were hell-bent on going to Applebee's or Olive Garden and then coming home to watch (sleep) through Hocus Pocus. With that being one of Mr. Unspeakable's favorite seasonal movies I was happy one of my brothers came over to borrow stuff for his Halloween party.
Over the course of him being there I tried to use my sibling telepathy to tell him to take me with him and save me from this hell hole of a holiday cause it was just to scary. But apparently that meant get chummy with Mom and Dad and leave me be. Since I had nothing better to do all day, and I needed validation, I showed him the cookies that I made for the party (peanut butter oatmeal with Hershey Kisses on top, why some man hasn't snatched me up, I'll never know). He said that they looked nice and Mom chimed in,
"Well, just so you know. He made them with MY ingredients."
No duh, bitch. Like I took the $60 I have to my name and went to the store and bought the ingredients to make some God damned cookies. OR that it just so happen that the 10 random boxes that I was able to acquire from the last 25 years of my life through a failed relationship just so happen to contain the ingredients to make these mother effing cookies. All of that was compiled into a icy glare.
"No I'm just saying that, yes he made them but I supplied the ingredients. They're actually pretty good."
Again, no duh, bitch. If you can read, you can cook. I have always been a good baker, everybody knows. So my brother left, with no lifeline to me, and I watched Stardust with Ma and Pa Kettle.
"I'm going to have to watch this like 5 more times to even get it!", Mom said.
"Try 15."
She deserved that. This coming from the woman who watches Sister Act once a month, stops in the kitchen while watching it and says, ".......Ha ha! Did you see that? I've never seen that part before!" No, really Mom? That's incredible.
On top of all of this fun that could have made me rip the skin off my face, I got no candy. NONE, ZIPPO, NADA. I told Mom this and she said that the candy on the counter in the basket was for everyone. Whoppers, Milkduds, cheapo Halloween chocolates and those "fun size" Twizzlers that are not fun and taste nothing like the real thing. No that is not my Halloween candy.
WORST HALLOWEEN EVER.
Picture it, Oct. 30 10:30 pm. Mom had just woken up for one last cognitive thought from the two and a half hour nap she'd been taking since 8, she'd still doze for another hour before swaggering off to bed.
For no reason I asked her, "Mom, what are we doing for Thanksgiving?"
"Well, we're having Rogers' Thanksgiving the Sat. before, and since Aunt Sue had Christmas last I'll have her and Uncle Bob over for Thanksgiving."
"And what about Christmas?"
"We'll, it's kind of the same thing. All of your brothers and everyone will come over on Christmas eve and Sue and Bobbie will come over for Christmas day."
See if you can tell what was audibly happening to me:
"Hmm ohh ooooha ha hahahaha uuuuuuuhhhhhhh oh oh oh God ah ah aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh shif snif oh."
That's right, at first I was laughing for how unfunny and crappy that sounded and thought "Well, if It's gonna suck it might as well suck really bad." And then I thought of the life I had, the awesome life of a couple for the holidays. You get to pick the family you see, miss the awkward family and most of the time is spent listening to fun music in the car, traveling from home to good part of my family to the good part of his family and back to home. Now I get to explain my failed life to people who I have purposefully been avoiding for the last 5 years.
And by the end of my exclamation my eyes were actually filled with tears. I wasn't full on Oprah crying but it was noticeable. That was the beginning of the scariest Halloween.
I woke up on Halloween morning alone. Not only because I am newly separated, but no one else was actually in the house. I spent the whole day alone. How crappy is that! So I waited around all day, watching the Halloween episodes of everything on TV and finally Mom and Dad came home. They were hell-bent on going to Applebee's or Olive Garden and then coming home to watch (sleep) through Hocus Pocus. With that being one of Mr. Unspeakable's favorite seasonal movies I was happy one of my brothers came over to borrow stuff for his Halloween party.
Over the course of him being there I tried to use my sibling telepathy to tell him to take me with him and save me from this hell hole of a holiday cause it was just to scary. But apparently that meant get chummy with Mom and Dad and leave me be. Since I had nothing better to do all day, and I needed validation, I showed him the cookies that I made for the party (peanut butter oatmeal with Hershey Kisses on top, why some man hasn't snatched me up, I'll never know). He said that they looked nice and Mom chimed in,
"Well, just so you know. He made them with MY ingredients."
No duh, bitch. Like I took the $60 I have to my name and went to the store and bought the ingredients to make some God damned cookies. OR that it just so happen that the 10 random boxes that I was able to acquire from the last 25 years of my life through a failed relationship just so happen to contain the ingredients to make these mother effing cookies. All of that was compiled into a icy glare.
"No I'm just saying that, yes he made them but I supplied the ingredients. They're actually pretty good."
Again, no duh, bitch. If you can read, you can cook. I have always been a good baker, everybody knows. So my brother left, with no lifeline to me, and I watched Stardust with Ma and Pa Kettle.
"I'm going to have to watch this like 5 more times to even get it!", Mom said.
"Try 15."
She deserved that. This coming from the woman who watches Sister Act once a month, stops in the kitchen while watching it and says, ".......Ha ha! Did you see that? I've never seen that part before!" No, really Mom? That's incredible.
On top of all of this fun that could have made me rip the skin off my face, I got no candy. NONE, ZIPPO, NADA. I told Mom this and she said that the candy on the counter in the basket was for everyone. Whoppers, Milkduds, cheapo Halloween chocolates and those "fun size" Twizzlers that are not fun and taste nothing like the real thing. No that is not my Halloween candy.
WORST HALLOWEEN EVER.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Heart Attack, Party of One
Hello all,
I am writing you today from the Pendleton Community Library. Sorry I have not written in a while I was just assessing the damage of my life before picking up the pieces, pulling my shit together and taking the next step. Fun, no?
I just got done looking at grad schools online, Northwestern and Ohio State to be exact, and HOLY GEEZ! they look scary. Just about as scary as my college advisor/department chair from Butler whom I have been talking to for advice. I was hesitating talking to her cause she scares the bejeezes out of me but she has been supportive, but not too much, informative, but not too much, and helpful, but not too much. I essentially want a golden opportunity to fall into my lap, but apparently it doesn't work like that.
Anyways these grad programs look SUPER hard. I was with "he who shall not be named" for 2 years in VA while he was getting his MFA, and that didn't look near this hard. I though I could just go to a university choreograph a couple musicals, teach a couple of jazz classes, terrorize some freshmen and be on my merry way, degree in hand. But like a golden opportunity, apparently it doesn't happen like that. Philosophy, kinesiology, gender studies, more effing ballet classes? Listen, I am not interested in studying why African tribal women echo subtle nuances of their cultural heritage in their rain dances that are mirrored in Laban movement analysis which I will now notate for you while I complete my third ballet class, followed by my 18th hokey-pokey, rollin' around on the the floor modern class while in my spare time I will try to develop the musculature of a Chippendale's stripper just to make myself the best dancer I can be! For Christ's sake! I just want to be lauded and magnified for being unquestionably awesome for dancing and achievements that could do in my sleep!! Is that so much?
On a lighter note, I have had some interesting conversations with the Mom lately. One of my favorites including a geography lesson. We had just finished watching a a commercial about Alaska and Sarah Palin.
Me: "Isn't is crazy how big Alaska is when you compare it to the rest of the US?"
Mom: "Mm-hmm."
"Well anyway, my legs still hurt from walking around New York. One day I walked like 80 blocks. I swear. By the end of the day I probably could have walked all the way back to the apt. on 190th St. and the Subway only goes to 207th."
"How big is New York?"
"What do you mean?"
"Like, how big is it?"
"We'll I just said that said that it was 207 blocks long and let's just say that it's 20ish blocks wide. Do you know how long a NY city block is?"
"YES (duh implied)! But, is it as big as Pendleton?"
"Mom, do you know how big Pendleton is?"
"YES! (duh)...........Is it as big as Anderson?"
"Mom you just said that you know how big Pendleton is and that you knew the distance of a city block, Figure it out."
"But like, just tell me! Like Anderson, Pendleton................or like ...................Alaska?"
"ALASKA! Mom, are you seriously asking me if New York City is the size of Alaska? ALASKA?"
"Well, how am I supposed to know these things?"
Touche Mom, you only assistant-teach kindergarten. That is clearly more of a 3rd grade question.
On a completely different note, I have decided to switch to hard liquor, as opposed to beer. I think it will do wonders to my calorie intake.
I will leave you now, as I go to Target to try to rustle up a Halloween costume for the day after Halloween party I am going to. I am no too much of a costume person, for more than obvious reasons, so I am looking for a costume with the right amount of dignity and notoriety, so I don't have to explain who I am all night long. On Friday (Halloween night) I have no plans and neither do the parents, whom I have had to become accustomed to calling eachother by their first names. That is very unsettling. I have mentioned to Mom my intrigue in seeing High School Musical 3, though I don't think she plans on actually going. It's probably for the best. I don't think I could stand seeing a movie with her.
"Noah, is that the kid from the commercials that are on during the news?"
"Mom, stop it."
"What are they saying?"
"Stop it."
"Well, that was kind of good, right?"
"Stop it."
"Do you want half of this apple from my purse?"
"Stop it."
"Do you think they're going to stop the movie for a bathroom break?"
"Stop it."
I could really just go on, but I think I'll just bring my friend "Hidden Bottle of Vodka" instead. We always have such pleasant conversation.
I am writing you today from the Pendleton Community Library. Sorry I have not written in a while I was just assessing the damage of my life before picking up the pieces, pulling my shit together and taking the next step. Fun, no?
I just got done looking at grad schools online, Northwestern and Ohio State to be exact, and HOLY GEEZ! they look scary. Just about as scary as my college advisor/department chair from Butler whom I have been talking to for advice. I was hesitating talking to her cause she scares the bejeezes out of me but she has been supportive, but not too much, informative, but not too much, and helpful, but not too much. I essentially want a golden opportunity to fall into my lap, but apparently it doesn't work like that.
Anyways these grad programs look SUPER hard. I was with "he who shall not be named" for 2 years in VA while he was getting his MFA, and that didn't look near this hard. I though I could just go to a university choreograph a couple musicals, teach a couple of jazz classes, terrorize some freshmen and be on my merry way, degree in hand. But like a golden opportunity, apparently it doesn't happen like that. Philosophy, kinesiology, gender studies, more effing ballet classes? Listen, I am not interested in studying why African tribal women echo subtle nuances of their cultural heritage in their rain dances that are mirrored in Laban movement analysis which I will now notate for you while I complete my third ballet class, followed by my 18th hokey-pokey, rollin' around on the the floor modern class while in my spare time I will try to develop the musculature of a Chippendale's stripper just to make myself the best dancer I can be! For Christ's sake! I just want to be lauded and magnified for being unquestionably awesome for dancing and achievements that could do in my sleep!! Is that so much?
On a lighter note, I have had some interesting conversations with the Mom lately. One of my favorites including a geography lesson. We had just finished watching a a commercial about Alaska and Sarah Palin.
Me: "Isn't is crazy how big Alaska is when you compare it to the rest of the US?"
Mom: "Mm-hmm."
"Well anyway, my legs still hurt from walking around New York. One day I walked like 80 blocks. I swear. By the end of the day I probably could have walked all the way back to the apt. on 190th St. and the Subway only goes to 207th."
"How big is New York?"
"What do you mean?"
"Like, how big is it?"
"We'll I just said that said that it was 207 blocks long and let's just say that it's 20ish blocks wide. Do you know how long a NY city block is?"
"YES (duh implied)! But, is it as big as Pendleton?"
"Mom, do you know how big Pendleton is?"
"YES! (duh)...........Is it as big as Anderson?"
"Mom you just said that you know how big Pendleton is and that you knew the distance of a city block, Figure it out."
"But like, just tell me! Like Anderson, Pendleton................or like ...................Alaska?"
"ALASKA! Mom, are you seriously asking me if New York City is the size of Alaska? ALASKA?"
"Well, how am I supposed to know these things?"
Touche Mom, you only assistant-teach kindergarten. That is clearly more of a 3rd grade question.
On a completely different note, I have decided to switch to hard liquor, as opposed to beer. I think it will do wonders to my calorie intake.
I will leave you now, as I go to Target to try to rustle up a Halloween costume for the day after Halloween party I am going to. I am no too much of a costume person, for more than obvious reasons, so I am looking for a costume with the right amount of dignity and notoriety, so I don't have to explain who I am all night long. On Friday (Halloween night) I have no plans and neither do the parents, whom I have had to become accustomed to calling eachother by their first names. That is very unsettling. I have mentioned to Mom my intrigue in seeing High School Musical 3, though I don't think she plans on actually going. It's probably for the best. I don't think I could stand seeing a movie with her.
"Noah, is that the kid from the commercials that are on during the news?"
"Mom, stop it."
"What are they saying?"
"Stop it."
"Well, that was kind of good, right?"
"Stop it."
"Do you want half of this apple from my purse?"
"Stop it."
"Do you think they're going to stop the movie for a bathroom break?"
"Stop it."
I could really just go on, but I think I'll just bring my friend "Hidden Bottle of Vodka" instead. We always have such pleasant conversation.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Back Home Again in Indiana....
Hello all,
I am not even joking. I am writing you this to day from the bottom of the steps in my parents basement. Seriously. I was in New York yesterday and in Pendleton, Indiana today. Life's not fair, but no one said it was.
I could tell you all the sordid tale of how I got home and what it all means, but wouldn't you rather hear it live over a drink or seven. I know I would. It's complicated, super complicated, but now I get to start my life for real, sort of-complicated, here's where the alcohol would come in handy.
Anyways, call me, we'll hang out, but seriously-drinks are required.
I did learn a few things while I was in New York, and I would like to share them with you now.
1. Those super tight jeans that all the gay boys wear will never look good on me. In the time it would take me to starve myself to fit into those damn jeans they would be out of style. I have "athletic" thighs from dancing, and they're not going anywhere.
2.TV is a liar. I understand that under the right circumstances New York can be a cramazingly romantic place to be, but if you are living there I assume that this is only true for very wealthy people. On TV, people are never on the subway, but it is impossible to ride in taxis and not spend $100,000 a year on taxi fares alone. There are people everywhere, all pissed off and ugly, looking at you, in your space, no privacy. TV is not not like this. Sex and the City has made fairytale mirage of New York. Well, at least when/if I go back, I'll be expecting the worse.
3a. When I was in high school my brother would tell me to dress up if we were going to the Keystone fashion mall. I had no idea why he did this until, with no discussion of it, my self conciseness was heightened between the ages of 14 and 15. He did this because, that's where the rich people shopped and he didn't want people to think that we were some country mice shopping in the big city.
3b. In my first year of college, I came home for Thanksgiving break and my new sister-in-law told me not to wear pajamas to class. I was so confused, I wanted to be comfy and most dance clothes look like pajamas. But she was right, not wearing pajamas on an everyday basis not only makes you look appropriate for the day, but it especially makes you look better than the people who wear pajamas on an everyday basis.
3c. In New York, it doesn't matter what you wear. 35% of the people will always look better than you, and it doesn't necessarily have to do with what they're wearing, there are so many gorgeous people there. But there is an upside, 15% of the people will always look worse than you and it doesn't necessarily have to do with what they're wearing either.
More things may pop up as I descend into reality but that is all for now, except one more thing. From crying, not eating, and walking a ton I lost so much weight! My body looks so toned! I can see why ballerinas do it. I have been home for less than one day and I have already eaten more than what I ate in 4 days there. But don't worry, I'm planning on asking Santa for a subtle but effective eating disorder for Christmas.
I am not even joking. I am writing you this to day from the bottom of the steps in my parents basement. Seriously. I was in New York yesterday and in Pendleton, Indiana today. Life's not fair, but no one said it was.
I could tell you all the sordid tale of how I got home and what it all means, but wouldn't you rather hear it live over a drink or seven. I know I would. It's complicated, super complicated, but now I get to start my life for real, sort of-complicated, here's where the alcohol would come in handy.
Anyways, call me, we'll hang out, but seriously-drinks are required.
I did learn a few things while I was in New York, and I would like to share them with you now.
1. Those super tight jeans that all the gay boys wear will never look good on me. In the time it would take me to starve myself to fit into those damn jeans they would be out of style. I have "athletic" thighs from dancing, and they're not going anywhere.
2.TV is a liar. I understand that under the right circumstances New York can be a cramazingly romantic place to be, but if you are living there I assume that this is only true for very wealthy people. On TV, people are never on the subway, but it is impossible to ride in taxis and not spend $100,000 a year on taxi fares alone. There are people everywhere, all pissed off and ugly, looking at you, in your space, no privacy. TV is not not like this. Sex and the City has made fairytale mirage of New York. Well, at least when/if I go back, I'll be expecting the worse.
3a. When I was in high school my brother would tell me to dress up if we were going to the Keystone fashion mall. I had no idea why he did this until, with no discussion of it, my self conciseness was heightened between the ages of 14 and 15. He did this because, that's where the rich people shopped and he didn't want people to think that we were some country mice shopping in the big city.
3b. In my first year of college, I came home for Thanksgiving break and my new sister-in-law told me not to wear pajamas to class. I was so confused, I wanted to be comfy and most dance clothes look like pajamas. But she was right, not wearing pajamas on an everyday basis not only makes you look appropriate for the day, but it especially makes you look better than the people who wear pajamas on an everyday basis.
3c. In New York, it doesn't matter what you wear. 35% of the people will always look better than you, and it doesn't necessarily have to do with what they're wearing, there are so many gorgeous people there. But there is an upside, 15% of the people will always look worse than you and it doesn't necessarily have to do with what they're wearing either.
More things may pop up as I descend into reality but that is all for now, except one more thing. From crying, not eating, and walking a ton I lost so much weight! My body looks so toned! I can see why ballerinas do it. I have been home for less than one day and I have already eaten more than what I ate in 4 days there. But don't worry, I'm planning on asking Santa for a subtle but effective eating disorder for Christmas.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Ok, don't be mad.
Hello all,
I am writing you this today from inside the New York Public Library. It is so beautiful! Stone walls, wooden bookcases, golden ceilings with inlaid pictures, chandeliers, AND free wireless. What more could I ask for?
So yea, I was supposed to start my new job yesterday.................. Well, this post is gonna be a little drama for you mama, but seriously I have no one else to talk to. Josh and I are still on a bit of a rocky road. And I wish that meant ice cream, cause I am eating like nothing. I only eat about 1 to a half a meal a day. Pretty soon Josh and I will be able to share clothes and well, let's face it, I have always been of, well, ample stature in comparison. I have more ass downstairs than a dimly lit pool hall under a gay bar on a Sat. night.
Anyways, when Josh was supposed to leave me on the subway yesterday, we just couldn't get off on a good foot. We're so unhappy about various things but still in love, it's a very volatile combination. Cut to, an entire day of us arguing all over Rockefeller plaza and him skipping work. We got nothing accomplished but by the end of the day I was so exhausted I had no idea what I even wanted so badly anyway. Also throughout the day I just dreaded going to my new job. I called in and said it wasn't right for me. With all of the crap going on I really need something that's going to make me happy. This just didn't seem like it.
If you all remember, I am not allowed to be in the apt. when Josh isn't there because his roommates are pissheads. The job started at 4 or 5. I get up at 7 and leave with Josh at 8 and am a nomadic transient all day. I would have gotten home at 12 from the show every night. Does that sound like a fun schedule.
Survey says...............................................................................NO!
Also, I was only going to get paid $7-8 an hour. I went to college! Private school no less! I had a 3.8 GPA! I am not going to serve drinks to yuppie assholes, on 6 hours of sleep, while my relationship is falling apart at home cause my boyfriend can't stand to stay up past 10PM.
Christ on a stick! I just need a big block of awesomeness to fall out of the sky and knock the crap out of me. Is that asking for too much?
Editors note: Thank you very much for all of the people who sent emails, texts, comments or voicemails to congratulate me on getting a job. It is so awesome to hear from people outside of all this craziness.
Also, crazy thank yous to Kristy who is taking care of (and taking pictures for me)my little guy while I'm here. I miss him soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much. Last night after the whole day, I was a wreck. I just want my dog, I was not being unreasonable, is that to much to ask? No. Josh said, "Noah, stop crying? Why are you crying? Are you crying cause you miss Graham? Stop crying. Do you think he's going to forget you? Stop crying. There's no reason to cry." I was of course crying and unable to talk but the much more aggressive little Noah inside of my head answered,
"Yes, BITCH, I'm crying about my dog! He was to only thing keeping me happy and I gave him up for you and your crap! Yes, I think he's going to forget me! He's only 2 years old and you signed a "no dog" lease for 2 years! I will be without more than I have been with him! Your bitch ass roommate has a cat! I'm allergic to cats, bitch! You said you were going to try to get Graham here or find a way for us to get out of this apt. and you're doing JACK SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Little Noah is, at times, more dramatic than I am. I think. But, I've been wrong before.
My little guy! Looking so cute! OMG, he's so cute!
I am writing you this today from inside the New York Public Library. It is so beautiful! Stone walls, wooden bookcases, golden ceilings with inlaid pictures, chandeliers, AND free wireless. What more could I ask for?
So yea, I was supposed to start my new job yesterday.................. Well, this post is gonna be a little drama for you mama, but seriously I have no one else to talk to. Josh and I are still on a bit of a rocky road. And I wish that meant ice cream, cause I am eating like nothing. I only eat about 1 to a half a meal a day. Pretty soon Josh and I will be able to share clothes and well, let's face it, I have always been of, well, ample stature in comparison. I have more ass downstairs than a dimly lit pool hall under a gay bar on a Sat. night.
Anyways, when Josh was supposed to leave me on the subway yesterday, we just couldn't get off on a good foot. We're so unhappy about various things but still in love, it's a very volatile combination. Cut to, an entire day of us arguing all over Rockefeller plaza and him skipping work. We got nothing accomplished but by the end of the day I was so exhausted I had no idea what I even wanted so badly anyway. Also throughout the day I just dreaded going to my new job. I called in and said it wasn't right for me. With all of the crap going on I really need something that's going to make me happy. This just didn't seem like it.
If you all remember, I am not allowed to be in the apt. when Josh isn't there because his roommates are pissheads. The job started at 4 or 5. I get up at 7 and leave with Josh at 8 and am a nomadic transient all day. I would have gotten home at 12 from the show every night. Does that sound like a fun schedule.
Survey says...............................................................................NO!
Also, I was only going to get paid $7-8 an hour. I went to college! Private school no less! I had a 3.8 GPA! I am not going to serve drinks to yuppie assholes, on 6 hours of sleep, while my relationship is falling apart at home cause my boyfriend can't stand to stay up past 10PM.
Christ on a stick! I just need a big block of awesomeness to fall out of the sky and knock the crap out of me. Is that asking for too much?
Editors note: Thank you very much for all of the people who sent emails, texts, comments or voicemails to congratulate me on getting a job. It is so awesome to hear from people outside of all this craziness.
Also, crazy thank yous to Kristy who is taking care of (and taking pictures for me)my little guy while I'm here. I miss him soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much. Last night after the whole day, I was a wreck. I just want my dog, I was not being unreasonable, is that to much to ask? No. Josh said, "Noah, stop crying? Why are you crying? Are you crying cause you miss Graham? Stop crying. Do you think he's going to forget you? Stop crying. There's no reason to cry." I was of course crying and unable to talk but the much more aggressive little Noah inside of my head answered,
"Yes, BITCH, I'm crying about my dog! He was to only thing keeping me happy and I gave him up for you and your crap! Yes, I think he's going to forget me! He's only 2 years old and you signed a "no dog" lease for 2 years! I will be without more than I have been with him! Your bitch ass roommate has a cat! I'm allergic to cats, bitch! You said you were going to try to get Graham here or find a way for us to get out of this apt. and you're doing JACK SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Little Noah is, at times, more dramatic than I am. I think. But, I've been wrong before.
My little guy! Looking so cute! OMG, he's so cute!
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Gypsy!!!!!!!!!
Hello all,
Last night I saw Gypsy. Josh and I were in the front row. At first when we sat down, it was way too close, but then the show started. Patti Lupone was at times 2 feet away from me. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Right? All the actors played to us, even Patti looked at us, waved to us, and blew us kisses! One of the chorus girls threw me a fake apple off of her costume. It was OUT OF CONTROL!!! I payed only $27 per ticket. CRAZY!
OMG, Patti Lupone was so amazing. She cried at the end, like sobbing, mad, crazy crying. I could not stop smiling when she was on stage. She's a legend. And to see her throat warble to make effortless awesomeness all over that stage was cramazing (crazy+amazing). CRAMAZING!!!
The rest of the cast was great as well. We had the see the standby for Laura Benanti who plays Louise, so that was kind of a let down, but oh well. One of the chorus boys was flirting with me right there on stage. His head was supposed to be down and he just kept starring at me and smiling. He did it for the rest of the show- performed the whole thing to me and when he came out to bow he winked then double-raised his eye brows at me. Granted, he wasn't the best looking of the avaiable chorus boys, but he was a Broadway chorus boy and not totally unattractive making eyes at me for a whole show. Consider me flattered.
Overall it was an amazing first show to see as a new transport to New York.
Last night I saw Gypsy. Josh and I were in the front row. At first when we sat down, it was way too close, but then the show started. Patti Lupone was at times 2 feet away from me. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Right? All the actors played to us, even Patti looked at us, waved to us, and blew us kisses! One of the chorus girls threw me a fake apple off of her costume. It was OUT OF CONTROL!!! I payed only $27 per ticket. CRAZY!
OMG, Patti Lupone was so amazing. She cried at the end, like sobbing, mad, crazy crying. I could not stop smiling when she was on stage. She's a legend. And to see her throat warble to make effortless awesomeness all over that stage was cramazing (crazy+amazing). CRAMAZING!!!
The rest of the cast was great as well. We had the see the standby for Laura Benanti who plays Louise, so that was kind of a let down, but oh well. One of the chorus boys was flirting with me right there on stage. His head was supposed to be down and he just kept starring at me and smiling. He did it for the rest of the show- performed the whole thing to me and when he came out to bow he winked then double-raised his eye brows at me. Granted, he wasn't the best looking of the avaiable chorus boys, but he was a Broadway chorus boy and not totally unattractive making eyes at me for a whole show. Consider me flattered.
Overall it was an amazing first show to see as a new transport to New York.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Seth and the South
Hello all,
For any of you who know my brother, no this post is not about him*.
I have had a very eventful morning. Yet again, the husband and I argued about his passive behavior, but that dog just won't bark. I'm not sure if that old adage was used correctly but it sounds right.
I got student rush tickets to see Patti LuPone in Gypsy tonight! $27 dollars a piece! I'm super pumped! I wanted to see [title of show] before it closed, but alas it was not in the stars for us. But, getting the chance to see Patti LuPone in a Tony winning musical is kinda FREAKIN' AWESOME too. I have been secretly dreading to see a show because I don't want to see all the chorus boys and think, "Wow, they're all really buff," or "I can't do any of that stuff." But I will power through and love it. Even worse though, if I see the show and and they're just a bunch of schmucks on stage doing jazz squares, Josh is gonna get a whole sub ride home of,
"I could 'a friggin' done that! Why the hell was I not hired?!?!"
"Well Noah, you didn't audition for it."
Scoff "Well......like that matters! God!"
But, I digress. The real highlight of my morning was going to the Times Square Information Center to see Seth Rudetsky do a live show for Sirius Radio. He does a free show there every Wed. at noon, deconstructing Broadway stuff, saying things he says in his column, and most importantly interviewing Broadway stars. I got there 2 hours early just to get a good seat and for 1 1/2 hours I was the only one in the audience in the middle of assorted New York kiosks.
Eventually the audience was filled with 60 year old Jews. An old optimistic woman came up to me, seated front row center, holding my Seth Rudetsky Q Guide to Broadway, and asked if she could sit next to me. I said,
"You can if you like."
She turned on herself and said,
"Do you want to talk?"
"No."
"Oh." She sat anyways.
Finally Seth came and was so giddy to see him, I read his column every week and am a huge fan. For the life of me, I could not stop smiling at him like a cracked out 12 year old at a Jonas Brothers concert. This idiocy continued for 10ish minutes. He walked past the audience, talking to himself, but still out loud and said no louder than a whisper, "Hello, red hair."
Seriously? Are you my Grandpa's friend down at the Post restaurant calling every ginger haired kid "Red". What's next Opie jokes? I detest people who comment on the color of my hair without preceding it with anything other than, "Omigosh, what a lovely shade of.....". But bygones, he's a comedian type person I'm sure he's gone though a boat load of childhood hell to get funny.
He was interviewing the cast of the upcoming White Christmas and a star from the show Xanadu which closed recently. Before the show started his red-haired announcer came up to me and asked me to come on stage later and participate in the game show about show tunes. She said it was really easy and that I'd be playing with celebrities, but the audience members always win. I said yes cause naturally I would be a shoe in. I love Broadway! I just got done reading a Broadway trivia book, of course I would do it and kick everyone' asses!
Well the show was funny and when it came time for me to come on stage for the game portion, I lept up and bounded onstage. My opponents were this old crazy looking lady who sat behind me and 2 of the cast members of White Christmas. The cast members were playing for an older couple in the audience who took pictures of me.
"Who starred in Carousel and the Pajama Game?"
My answer, "..................................................." The crazy old lady answered
"What does Betty Buckley prefer to be called?"
".........................................." White Christmas got it.
"What is this song from?" he played
"................................." White Cristmas again.
"How many performances did the Sonheim musical Merily We Roll Along run ?"
I knew it! I knew it! But I rang in too late.
This is a picture of Seth Rudetsky telling me that I had no points and needed to step it up. But the game was already over. 4 questions! That's it? Yes, that was it. We all got bags filled with a Sirius Radio t-shirt, hat, pen, bottle opener and chapstick.
For any of you who know my brother, no this post is not about him*.
I have had a very eventful morning. Yet again, the husband and I argued about his passive behavior, but that dog just won't bark. I'm not sure if that old adage was used correctly but it sounds right.
I got student rush tickets to see Patti LuPone in Gypsy tonight! $27 dollars a piece! I'm super pumped! I wanted to see [title of show] before it closed, but alas it was not in the stars for us. But, getting the chance to see Patti LuPone in a Tony winning musical is kinda FREAKIN' AWESOME too. I have been secretly dreading to see a show because I don't want to see all the chorus boys and think, "Wow, they're all really buff," or "I can't do any of that stuff." But I will power through and love it. Even worse though, if I see the show and and they're just a bunch of schmucks on stage doing jazz squares, Josh is gonna get a whole sub ride home of,
"I could 'a friggin' done that! Why the hell was I not hired?!?!"
"Well Noah, you didn't audition for it."
Scoff "Well......like that matters! God!"
But, I digress. The real highlight of my morning was going to the Times Square Information Center to see Seth Rudetsky do a live show for Sirius Radio. He does a free show there every Wed. at noon, deconstructing Broadway stuff, saying things he says in his column, and most importantly interviewing Broadway stars. I got there 2 hours early just to get a good seat and for 1 1/2 hours I was the only one in the audience in the middle of assorted New York kiosks.
Eventually the audience was filled with 60 year old Jews. An old optimistic woman came up to me, seated front row center, holding my Seth Rudetsky Q Guide to Broadway, and asked if she could sit next to me. I said,
"You can if you like."
She turned on herself and said,
"Do you want to talk?"
"No."
"Oh." She sat anyways.
Finally Seth came and was so giddy to see him, I read his column every week and am a huge fan. For the life of me, I could not stop smiling at him like a cracked out 12 year old at a Jonas Brothers concert. This idiocy continued for 10ish minutes. He walked past the audience, talking to himself, but still out loud and said no louder than a whisper, "Hello, red hair."
Seriously? Are you my Grandpa's friend down at the Post restaurant calling every ginger haired kid "Red". What's next Opie jokes? I detest people who comment on the color of my hair without preceding it with anything other than, "Omigosh, what a lovely shade of.....". But bygones, he's a comedian type person I'm sure he's gone though a boat load of childhood hell to get funny.
He was interviewing the cast of the upcoming White Christmas and a star from the show Xanadu which closed recently. Before the show started his red-haired announcer came up to me and asked me to come on stage later and participate in the game show about show tunes. She said it was really easy and that I'd be playing with celebrities, but the audience members always win. I said yes cause naturally I would be a shoe in. I love Broadway! I just got done reading a Broadway trivia book, of course I would do it and kick everyone' asses!
Well the show was funny and when it came time for me to come on stage for the game portion, I lept up and bounded onstage. My opponents were this old crazy looking lady who sat behind me and 2 of the cast members of White Christmas. The cast members were playing for an older couple in the audience who took pictures of me.
"Who starred in Carousel and the Pajama Game?"
My answer, "..................................................." The crazy old lady answered
"What does Betty Buckley prefer to be called?"
".........................................." White Christmas got it.
"What is this song from?" he played
"................................." White Cristmas again.
"How many performances did the Sonheim musical Merily We Roll Along run ?"
I knew it! I knew it! But I rang in too late.
This is a picture of Seth Rudetsky telling me that I had no points and needed to step it up. But the game was already over. 4 questions! That's it? Yes, that was it. We all got bags filled with a Sirius Radio t-shirt, hat, pen, bottle opener and chapstick.
This is me and Seth. He signed my book, "Noah, you suck at game shows, but you have great hair. Seth".
How did this meeting go? Let's see. He looked at me like I was a stalker posed for an amazingly friendly looking photo. I couldn't answer any of the questions and was categorized by my hair color. He does this live show every week, interviewing different stars. Will I go back next week? Probably. Will I sit in the front row? Probably not.
I have just recieved a job to become a manager of a Broadway bar. The one in Studio 54 that has been turned into a theater. The revival Pal Joey will be playing there. I start training at South Pacific on Friday.
*My brother Seth sent me a message at 9:49 last night. "Did u see dancing w the stars awesome u could start your own company that used music like that super fucken modern be careful rogers out" I'm still not 100% on what was meant by all of that, but I do know 2 things
1. 9:49 is too early to be incoherent
2. I'm a big fan of my brotherdrunk dialling me and he never calls me "Red"
Rogers out.
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