Blogging Just To Blog

Untethered

Tue, 21 Feb 2012 18:00:05 -0500

This year, I’ve been kicking in the idea of giving up something for Lent.

Well…sort of.

I think giving up something “for” Lent implies that I am making a decision based on my faith to give up something for 40 days that will bring me closer to God. Um, this isn’t totally that. For one thing, I’m not Catholic. For another, I’m not religious. I’ll spare my long drawn out feelings, but I do think that God lies within. Our bodies are our temples and we should work hard to keep ourselves happy and make the best temple we can for this God inside of us. And that’s why I’ve been wondering if I should use this time of solemn reflection to piggy back and do my own type of fast. The question was what?

I thought about my vices: alcohol (hahaha, nice try, liver), sex (psh, yeah right), fast food (I’ve already cut way back on it and see it as more of a treat than a necessity) facebook. Hmm. Facebook.

Each morning as I curse my alarm clock, when I finally open my eyes, I pick up the cell phone next to my bed and see what happened on Facebook the last time I was on. You know, during those 8 hours where me and the rest of the East Coast were sleeping? I then work for 8 hours and I’m an excellent employee never once checking it. I don’t even make status messages. Guys, I’m mad serious, I don’t even consider Facebook while I work at my job at the best job ever that is great all the time. Until 5pm and my cell phone lives in my hand as I check status messages from my couch. If the cell isn’t in my hand, it’s because my laptop is and I’m obsessing that way. And it’s not only facebook; Twitter is up and running too. And within the last year, I’ve been checking Reddit like a crackfiend. This is my vice and it’s got to stop.

I’ve actually improved from where I was. I don’t update my status message that much anymore and Twitter has turned into something I check more to say something I think of off the top of my head than to keep up with what everyone else is saying. Right now, Reddit is the bulk of my time killing. But I still feel the need to disconnect. As modern day as I am, there’s something to be said about disconnecting for a while and remembering what it’s like to look people in the eyes as you walk down the street. If I’m at a table sitting by myself momentarily, notice the decor of the room rather than wishing someone, ANYONE would update their status so I don’t look as awkward as I feel. And feeling awkward is another thing I hope to lose in all of this. My whole young adult life, I’ve mastered being alone but not lonely. Yet lately, when I’m so easily connected to the world, I find this need to fill in gaps with more than my own thoughts.

So what do I hope to find in this 40 days and 40 nights of disconnect from these modern forms of “communication”? I’m not really sure. I hope to get closer to people in my life. Instead of hitting the ‘net to tell 400 acquaintances how my day’s been going, picking up the phone to ask one friend how their day went. I’ve got some new projects to pick up and old projects I want to finish. Instead of micro-blogging, restart actual blogging to my readers…there’s so much I hope to learn out of this. Most importantly, I hope I take some time to talk to myself in all of this and hear what I have to say. I don’t expect magic to happen, but I do want to give myself less excuses, and more room for myself to grow and change.

See you real soon.

Photo

Wed, 19 Oct 2011 12:45:00 -0400

Why I Try Not to Eat Chicken Nuggets

Fri, 07 Oct 2011 18:17:05 -0400

Earlier this week, I went to McDonald’s with my girlfriend, her brother and his three-year-old son. We got our food and took back it to the car, my nephew and I eating in the backseat. Periodically, he would hand his dad things from the Happy Meal asking him to open the toy, the nugget box and when they checked the bags, I heard them say up front, “aww they forgot the sauce.” Apparently my nephew didn’t hear it and said, “Dad, can you give me the sauce? …Dad, sauce?” *sigh* this was it, I was going to have to break the news to him. “They forgot the sauce, sweetie.” I said. A quick look of pain came across his face, as if I’d just told him that Superman died. He took it well though; no further protests or even an “aww, man!” He just bit into his sauceless nugget.

Today I went to run some errands on my lunch break and stopped at McDonald’s on the way back to the office. I ordered a 10-piece and the woman specifically asked me what type of sauce I wanted. I got to the car and could smell the nuggets, the flavors of processed chicken and sweet & sour sauce mingling on my tongue already. Yet I get back to work, open the bag and…I’m sure you know. Superman had died. I work nowhere near McDonald’s and even if I did, my lunch break was over. I didn’t even think to ask for sauce since the woman who took my order had already assured me that my sauce of choice would be in the bag. So I sucked it up and took a page from my nephew’s book. I didn’t complain and bit into the nugget since there was no point in lunch being ruined. But the reason my nephew and I got so upset when the sauce wasn’t there: It’s because nuggets without sauce suck.

With sauce, it transforms the nugget into fatty fried goodness dripping with flavor! Without it, it’s just fatty fried meat(?) lumps. For 20 years McDonald’s has served nuggets and for 20 years I’ve had to eat them without sauce almost more times than I’ve eaten them with. I think with the new flavors that they have (don’t let anyone tell you that the new Sweet Chili sauce is delicious. They’re lying.) there mus

Who's that Girl

Tue, 04 Oct 2011 10:52:06 -0400

Fern Mayo

The Suicidal File Girl in What Women Want

Kitty, the flashing ex-secretary on Arrested Development

That popular bitch who sabotaged Jennifer Garner’s character in 13 Going on 30.

Recently, I was in a bar discussing this woman. I’m rattling off all the movies she’s been in. Usually she’s the sweet, but somehow not attractive enough to be the lead best friend. I’m rattling off the movies she’s played second fiddle in and all the companions at my table who have ever seen a chick flick are nodding in agreement. “Oh yeah! That girl! She was jLo’s assistant in The Wedding Planner too, wasn’t she?” Emphatic agreements ring out from the table. “What’s her name?” Silence rings out. We all scratch our temples and ponder a grain of rice in front of us, sip our beers waiting for someone to free us.

I feel like I’m always bringing up Judy Greer; so much so that you’d think I would’ve been able to tell my tablemates what her name is. But yet, whenever this discussion comes up - of actors that we need, we know, we recognize the second they’re on screen - I fail to remember poor Judy’s name. I get home and pull up the IMDB page of The Village because I feel like she was in that too, wasn’t she? Why yes, she was. That movie was kind of garbage, but like a 7-11 off an empty highway, it was a comfort to see her familiar face. As a matter of fact, if I see a romantic comedy starring an actress over the age of 30 I want, no, NEED to see Judy hustling alongside her with a stack of papers freaking out because she ditched last week’s meeting in favor of getting it on with Patrick Dempsey.

But when is Judy’s big day? She’s got a remarkable career on her shoulders, nothing to sneer at. But what keeps Hollywood from making her a leading lady and keeping her the literal bff? Is she hard to work with? Does she make outrageous demands for her dressing room and make you bathe her chihuahua in Fiji water daily? Maybe she’s comfortable exactly where she is. If not, take a chance on her, movie makers. I want to see a romantic comedy starring her and another second banana male. Someone not so famous that he’ll upstage her, but still someone likable enough that we want to see. I’m thinking Justin Long. Either way, I’m still happy seeing Judy gracing my TV and movie screens in whatever she takes on. And when my friends and I inevitably have this discussion again, I’ll definitely remember her name.

A Blast from the Past

Mon, 22 Aug 2011 09:28:20 -0400

The following is a journal entry that I wrote on September 12, 2003:

I have an issue where I like to scare the shit out of West Hartford residents whenever I’m able. For those of you who don’t know, West Hartford is the town over from me though we’re worlds apart. Suburban, most of the kids have a drug and/or alcohol program by the time they’re 11. Democratic for the wrong reasons, pseudo-rich bastards who feel the world should cater to them, and if you’ve ever worked there, by the end of your first day, you feel completely degraded.

So today I’m in the car driving through Elmwood Center which is part of West Hartford, but for reasons I don’t understand, they’ve taken a small section of the town and named it Elmwood. Your letters can be addressed to Elmwood or West Hartford when you live there and they’ll go to the same place. It doesn’t make sense to me. Anyway…I’m trying to pull out of the driveway from Subway and a car has his left blinker on. Because he has it on, I predict that he’ll slow down and I can jump in front of him really quick before he turns into my driveway, but the asshole is just stupid, and he just has his blinker on because, i dunno, he’s a dumb tard. So I’ve pulled in front of him and I already knew I was wrong making the move anyway but then I was even more wrong cuz his ass didn’t make the turn. So he turns off his blinker and lays on his fuckin horn. The fact that he blew the horn pissed me off. He didn’t turn his blinker off so he was partially wrong but he blew the damn horn and I got pissed. So he pulls up next to me and tries to angrily stare me down. I held up my middle finger forcefully and shouted, “TURN THE FUCK AROUND!” He turned his head quickly and faced the light. At the next light we pulled up next to each other again and he wouldn’t look. I laughed. I’m not a scary person, but the West Hartford people fear me. So I scare them whenever I can.

The One Where I Miss my Girlfriend

Mon, 25 Jul 2011 19:31:05 -0400

I haven’t been around much, but a lot has been going on. I just got back from a wedding in Aruba, which was absolutely beautiful. Seeing love bloom anew on the beautiful white sands of an impossibly blue beach was a breathtaking experience. But it really got me thinking, and I think I’ve decided that I’m kind of done doing romantic shit all by myself for the rest of the summer.

My girlfriend is talented enough to be spending her summer singing jazz tunes at a five star hotel in Hanoi, Vietnam. It’s one of those once in a lifetime experiences that you can’t pass up, and never in a billion years would I have ever asked her to. Now and then people say, “I can’t believe you let her go!” Well, last I checked, my girlfriend was a grown-ass woman (not to be confused with a grown ass-woman, as I’d imagine that would be scary) and I didn’t have to “let” her do anything. But beyond that, I would not want her to forgo her dreams simply because I would miss her. Unfortunately, I was not able to join her on this leg of her journey, but since I plan to be with her for somewhere around forever, there will be plenty more journeys for us to experience together. That said, I miss her and if I WAS the party in charge of “letting” one go somewhere, I’d strongly consider putting the kibosh on that shit next time around.

Four months is a long time to be without the person you love. Especially when the summer is beautiful and you want to hold the hand and look into the eyes of the one you love and look at beautiful things together. If I were single, I’d be doing everything alone and loving it. But it’s different knowing that I’m very much not single and the person that I want to do things with is simply busy right now. I’ve started to notice myself being that bitterly single woman. The woman who sneers, “get a room!” to the couple kissing, all the while petting the cat laying on her FUPA. (Petting my cats is a top 5 pastime right now.) Originally I said I’d just keep living my life like “fuck da haters” (I don’t know who the haters are in this case, but fuck ‘em still.) and go places that she and I go. But then when I get there, people are like, “OH MY GOSH! You must REALLY miss Charmane! I mean, like, really. How are you alive right now? You must miss her so much that you want to vomit and cry all day! How do you sleep at night without the person that you love beside you? I know if the person I love was not sleeping beside me, then I’d be sleeping next to a bucket of tears cuz that’s how sad I’d be! Being alone must SUCK for you! But hey, she’ll be home before you know it! When’s she coming back? OCTOBER?! That’s the whole summer! And the fall! Oh my gosh, I’m going to kiss my spouse right now because I don’t even want to imagine what you’re going through!”

So I’m just going to stop trying to act like brunch is a meal for single people too. No more walking in the park because unless you have a dog, kid or partner, you look like an aimless weirdo. No paella for me.

I don’t want people to think I’m lonely, because that’s not it at all. I have plenty of friends and family, I’m absolutely surrounded and I love it. I’m just missing the company of a very specific person. Also, having a girlfriend means they will do almost anything that you want to do simply because they’re doing it with you. So if I want to see some craptastic movie that none of my friends want to see and then talk about it afterwards, I have a lovely companion to see the craptastic movie with who is contractually obligated to accompany me. No one is contractually obligated to see bad movies with me at the moment. My parents’ contract expired 10 years ago and judging by how they bashed their viewing of Friends With Benefits this weekend, they’re in no rush to renew. (though, why would two 55 year olds think they should watch a movie called Friends with Benefits anyway?)

Beyond her wifely obligations, I miss her. I’m a stone’s throw away from rubbing her perfume on a body pillow with her picture taped to it. But I wouldn’t trade anything for her to follow her dreams, because I know she’d patiently wait as I followed mine, and we’ll both walk hand in hand as we follow ours together.

blaquerose: This is me. All the time.

Fri, 15 Jul 2011 22:44:54 -0400

blaquerose:

This is me. All the time.

I can do nothing else seawitchery: I started out clicking...

Fri, 08 Apr 2011 15:42:30 -0400

I can do nothing else

seawitchery:

I started out clicking strategically… and by the end was just wildly clicking and dancing in my chair.

biancavirina:

CLICK THE SQUARES.

THE WHOLE WORLD NEEDS TO KNOW ABOUT THIS.

THIS THIS THIS THIS!

Car Horn Translations

Wed, 16 Mar 2011 18:00:00 -0400

I got a middle finger this morning because someone two cars ahead of me was under the light, couldn’t see that it was green and I gave them a courtesy beep. The car in front of me must’ve thought I was being a jerk and was rushing him, so I got a courtesy finger. I thought that it had been made clear that when cars behind you send out a short beep and you’re not the lead car, that beep is supposed to go around you to the offending car. And even so, a short beep is not insulting. It’s just a reminder to get back in the game.

When discussing it on the People’s Website for the Discussion of the Inane (otherwise known as Facebook) a few of my friends got into the courtesies of a honk, and what they say. So I’ve decided to write my own personal translation here because I think about these things too deeply, therefore I’m probably right about them.

Short beep from behind at a stoplight: “I don’t know if you noticed, but the lights green. Proceed to your destination safely, friend!”

Short beep next to you at a stoplight: “Look over here! Your tire may be flat, or perhaps your coat is caught in the door! Maybe I just would like to gaze into your eyes for a spell. Either way, it won’t kill you to look in my direction for a second.”

Short beep while in motion: “I don’t know if you saw me, but don’t switch lanes just yet!”

Long beep from behind at a stoplight: “I’m being really obnoxious about it, but the light has changed and I want you to go through it because I’m late for my fucking meeting, you asshole.”

Long beep next to you at a stoplight: “Hey dickface: You were just a jerk back there and I didn’t like it. Look over at me so I can throw my hands up in disgust and mouth ‘what the hell!’”

Long beep while in motion: “What are you thinking?! Seriously, what? Because I can’t get answers, I will release all my rage into this horn!”

A beep and a wave: “Thank you! It was really nice of you to let me merge so seamlessly! If I could hug you I would, but since we’re in motion, this honk will have to suffice.”

A beep and a finger: “The beep wasn’t enough. You are just a capital asshole right now.”

Two short beeps at a stoplight: “Hey! I know you! Hello! Look at me over here! Can you see me? Wait, let me roll down the window! Oops, light’s changing! Damn, now you looked.”

Five short beeps at any time: “Shave and a haircut…” to which you should respond with two longer beeps for the “two bits.”

La Cucaracha: Well that person is just awesome. Give them a power fist.

I am a treasure trove of random and useless knowledge....

Tue, 01 Feb 2011 15:30:06 -0500

I am a treasure trove of random and useless knowledge. It’s a well-known fact among friends and something I like about myself very much. I often call myself “game show smart”, meaning if you were on a game show and needed a phone-a-friend, I’m your gal. Often times, people assume that I have actual knowledge. The sad truth is, I know a little about a lot of things and if they’re history or geography related, you may as well be asking my cat.

Once someone asked me about the United Kingdom and England. “What’s the difference?” He or she said. Normally, I am very honest when I don’t know something. But this particular time I was at a party showboating my game show smarts. I had been knocking people out of the park with answers to random questions and I was feelin myself. So I made something up. I said that England was part of the United Kingdom as a whole. It satisfied the party and I excused myself to go to the bathroom/fact check Wikipedia. As luck would have it, I’m an amazing guesser. Unfortunately I am a horrible studier and didn’t look into any follow up on the subject and kind of just let it go.

Until now! Some kindhearted soul who is probably tired of their sad, dumbass friends asking questions about the subject decided to make an illustrated video on the subject! Hurrah! It’s REALLY informative and short! I am a product of the go-go 80’s. I do not have time for the History Channel unless you microwave it.

Stop the Presses! Water is Wet and Taco Bell Might Be Weird!

Mon, 31 Jan 2011 18:15:06 -0500

Last week, some haters tried to blow up Taco Bell’s spot with the breaking news that the company is falsely advertising real beef. *gasp!* drive-through fare is questionable? Surely you jest! I thought that at this point we were all pretty sure that we have no idea what we’re putting in our bodies when it comes to fast food. I also thought that we were mostly comfortable with that. I’m not saying it’s the best excuse, but this is AMERICA. We have access to information at our fingertips that we choose to ignore because we’re free, dammit! “Isn’t it shameful that they inject so many hormones into baby cows so they grow up strong like bull?” “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you as I am cutting into a steak as big as my face.”

While I can understand the disgust, I can’t possibly feel a sense of shock. It’s more like, “well now I know, and G.I. Joe once told me that knowing is half the battle. Now about those Nachos Bel Grande…” Aren’t tacos $1 there? I couldn’t possibly be getting the best meal for that kind of a price. When I know exactly what’s in my meat, it’s not usually getting scooped out of a 20 gallon pan with a sieved spoon. Am I going to do anything about it? Probably not. I invented slacktivism. Are the hundreds of people forwarding the link around going to do anything about it? Well I can’t speak for everyone, but how many of those same people that posted the link changed their picture to an 80’s cartoon for “child abuse awareness”? (seriously, what the hot hell does a picture of Cheetara have to do with a kid getting the shit beat out of him? No really, I’d like to know.)

There’s really no point to this post. I don’t have any suggestions. If the recent revelation makes you want to stay away from Taco Hell then that’s really good for you. I do wonder what you’ll eat while drunk, but I’m sure you’ll find something. If, like me, your body is a temple to trans-fats and sodium no matter the source, I’ll see you for our 1am chalupa.

p.s. Taco Bell says “hi haters” and that their meat is real. And it’s as healthy as you’d expect meat to be from a chain restaurant.

No, YOU Have a Nice Day!

Wed, 26 Jan 2011 18:00:07 -0500

I recently got a new position where I deal with the public much less often than I once did. But having 10 years experience in customer service, I still haven’t forgotten my roots and I do use what I’ve learned every now and then. When I first started working, I was a dutiful yes-woman to those calling on the phone. I peppered phone calls with my soothing voice and chiming in with an, “I’m so sorry that happened” even when the person on the line was clearly in the wrong. I’d take a yelling with a shit eating grin, so as to not further upset my valued guest.

Then one day I woke up. When I was a waitress, it was ok to get yelled at by some dick who’s steak was burnt through no fault of my own. Because hopefully after I corrected the problem with a smile and a free dessert, I’d still be getting a nice tip at the end of it all. Answering phones for a busy political office, I’m getting called a whore for no extra money. Even whores get extra money. This must stop. I’m not saying I turned into a bitch, but I’m a stickler for manners. While being discourteous to others may have worked for you in the past, all I ask is that you remain polite with me in the present.

Anger is a natural feeling, and expressing it rather than holding it in is healthy. But calling someone on the other end of a phone a “stupid idiot” because you can’t get through to another department that I don’t even work in to pay your delinquent taxes? Why don’t you take a time out and assess what’s important in your life. Recently I had a couple make the trip into the office to get some business handled. When they came, I just so happened to be the only person here so I asked how I could help them. I knew they were confused, since typically we don’t get many people in here, but I knew I could point them in the right direction. Immediately, the man starts screaming at me about some nonsense that I don’t deal with, and before he could have a heart attack in my face, I tell him that he mistakenly came to the wrong building. Of course this just makes him madder because in his eyes I’m “passing the buck” and pushing him off on someone just like a “typical city hall asshole.”

Well now that was just rude.

With as much courtesy as I could muster, I told him to watch his mouth or tell it to a cop, because I won’t be attacked in my place of business. Yelling at me about a problem I’m in the dark on would be about as helpful as yelling at a puppy about living wage. The thing that kills me when people go off on me is that they assume that I’m some fat cat living in a dee-luxe apartment in the skyyy. The reality is that I’m your neighbor on the other end of this phone. It’s unfortunate that you haven’t been able to talk to a real person, but why offend the person you finally did get to talk to? Don’t you want to at least let me attempt to help you before you berate me like a child? And how would insulting me make me want to help you any more?

While it was my job to help people, it was not my job to be treated like I was subhuman. This is just something I want people to think about before they get on the phone and start screaming at the messenger. If you want to yell at someone and the subject of your ire is unavailable, I dunno, get a diary. Scream into a pillow. Write a stern letter. But the days of mild mannered secretaries are over, and you may not get someone as understanding as I on the other end of that phone.

"Strange, specific stuff. That’s what makes a nerd a nerd. If you like strange, specific stuff,..."

Tue, 25 Jan 2011 16:06:00 -0500

“Strange, specific stuff. That’s what makes a nerd a nerd. If you like strange, specific stuff, that’s a nerd, ok? Kanye West is a black nerd. He likes strange, specific stuff. If you go up to Kanye West and say “Hey, what are your favorite things?” he’ll be like “Robots and teddybears.” That’s a nerd.”

- Donald Glover (via bastardslacks)

Et tu, Tar-jay?

Wed, 05 Jan 2011 08:00:06 -0500

I am a horrible boycotter.

I hate inconveniencing myself in this world where everything is so damn easy to get. I know, it’s sad. And writing it out just makes me look like an even bigger jerk who admits their jerkiness unapologetically. I’ll apologize. But much like an asshole ex-boyfriend, I’m really only saying, “I’m sorry your feelings got hurt.” Not enough to stop doing what I’m doing though.

Don’t get me wrong, if this was something at Montgomery Bus Boycott levels, I would stick to my guns. But I’m not gonna lie, if I were around back then it would have been primarily out of shame. I can’t be the one black person on the bus when my fellow negroes and negrettes are walking. I don’t even have any kids waiting at home for me, so what could I say? “Yo, it was mad cold out today! But I got off two stops early just to show those white devils!”

Over the summer, the gays found out that Target gave money to a candidate with an anti-gay agenda. And at first they were like, “oops, my bad, we’ll make it right!” but recently I found out that they still gave more money to more anti-gay candidates. I’d love to say that enough is enough, and Target will be seeing no more of my dollars…but hear me out. See, the reason the bus boycott worked so well is because we were all on the same page and localized in one spot. Not only that, but I’d like to think one Montgomerian was like me and said, “Yo, boycotting buses is all well and good for you, Dr. King, but you get chauffeured around everywhere. I’m sayin, it’s December! This dude is trippin!” But then the rest of the congregation was like, “Dude, you’re REALLY not going to boycott the buses?” shaking their heads, waving their paper fans all hard and silently judging the offender. Nobody wants that. “Just kidding guys! I’m totally in! I’ll just use all the bus money I save to buy an extra scarf or something, that’s cool.”

Since there’s no gay meetings, there’s no one to wave their church fan in disapproval as I pull out my Archer Farms cookies. In fact, when I do run into other gays at Target, I feel like we avert our eyes; ashamed that we’ve failed in our duty, yet happy that we found such beautiful napkin rings at low prices.

My justification for my magnificent failure of our “boycott”:

1. Some people are haters. I’ve been told that I’m not supposed to let them stop my shine. My shine is shopping at Target, therefore, it shall not be stopped!

2. The money that they gave was supposedly to another organization which happened to fund a candidate that’s anti-gay. So it’s not really like they said, “go crazy on the gay-hating!” and gave him a couple G’s. It’s more like they gave some money to his mom and she gave some to him, cuz moms are nice like that.

3. Target was giving domestic partnerships to the geighs before that shit was even cool. so yeah…they got that goin on.

4. Seriously, why would the gays have to boycott the gayest discount store in the land?! The place is always neat and clean, and the decorative items just cannot be beat! If not Target then where, leader gays? Shop at a store where people might not like me? I was once a teenager. THAT WAS MY LIFE! I’ve been tailed at every store BUT Target! So some white guys sort of gave some money to some other hating ass white guys that will try, but probably will not succeed in oppressing me. That’s America! I’m used to this! But if there was a group of protesters holding signs with large pictures of Ellen Degeneres wearing a countenance that said, “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” whenever I walked in, I would boycott in a heartbeat.

An Intervention for the New Year

Tue, 04 Jan 2011 17:24:06 -0500

Happy 2011! I have some news for you: this Facebook thing is about to blow the hell up!

Now you’re looking at me all crazy. “Tianna,” you say, “Facebook BEEN blew up!” (cuz apparently you still use 90’s slang) I know, friend, I know. Facebook has indeed “been blew up.” I’m pretty sure that was the general headline back in 2006, when the doors first opened to your mom and you had to delete all those pictures of you and marijuana. So why am I still begging certain friends to join its ranks? There was a movie that I didn’t see, the founder nabbed Time Magazine’s coveted Person of the Year label and 1 and 14 people IN THE WORLD have it. The world! I could go visit the Ingabi* Tribe and add Chief Mustafa to my friends list when I got back home. That’s how serious Mark Zuckerberg’s game is.

This is an official notice: if you do not join facebook in 2011, you are hereby giving up your social life. No, I am not emailing you all the pictures I took. Why would I do that when there’s a popular website that lets me share them with all of my friends and yours sans hassle? Not only that, but there’s a 75% higher chance that people will actually give a damn about your pictures once they’re added to facebook.** Think about it. You go over someone’s house and they break out the old family photo album. Pictures of people that you do not know, listening to their commentary (or even worse, lack thereof) for an hour. Or picture this: it’s 2pm at work and you’ve hit a wall. But look! Your friend Kelly finally posted the pictures from Marissa’s graduation party! You weren’t invited because Marissa’s a whore with an overbite and you didn’t want to go anyway, but it’s still nice to see who else was there!

Speaking for all of your friends, we’re tired of explaining things to you that you’d know about if you’d just get a facebook and log on once a week.

Me: Ha! That reminds me of Jeffrey’s status message from last week!

You, the Lame: Oh, what did it say?

Me: It’s too long to explain. Why don’t you just get a Facebook?

Y,TL: Facebook sucks. I don’t care about those people.

REALLY? You really don’t care? so when I laugh at a status message in your presence, do you not laugh with me? I’m not asking you to rekindle lost loves, add even the most insignificant people of your past or even update your status message. Just join the future! And wtf, this is how you get invited to things now!

Y,TL: Aww man! I had no idea that a Dinosaur Circus starring Superman was in town! Why didn’t anyone tell me?

Me: Because, Lame, it was all over Facebook!

Just get a Facebook! Just have it! Sign on to see the pictures you’re tagged in and the events you’re invited to, that’s all we ask. The world no longer has the time to make special exceptions for friends that will not join up. I imagine this is what it was like when the telephone first started popping off, and some old school hipster called Alexander Graham Bell a sell out while re-inking his quills. Get a Facebook, hipster. For the foreseeable future, it’s here to stay.

*I have no idea if there is an Ingabi Tribe.

**statistics may be unfounded.

Hitting on Women

Thu, 11 Nov 2010 06:50:15 -0500

I’m fully out of the closet and have been for quite some time now, so I’m pretty much past the awkward moment that is telling someone that I’m a lesbian. Once in a while I’ll meet a straight woman, we’ll be having a great time talking and when it comes out that I’m gay, I get a a brief look of fear. Not that they’re not cool with the gay thing, but I know they’re trying to think back and see if they did anything that could be kinda gay since they met me.

Rest assured, straight women. I have no interest in you. Ok, maybe not none. If you took your top off in front of me in a non-locker room setting, I’m not going to avert my eyes. (sorry if that’s disrespectful but seriously, why would you take your top off in front of a lesbian? I’m taking this freebie and lookin at titties.) But with banging great straight women comes great responsibility, and I just don’t have the time. I prefer to look at women who I know are already in the same playing field as I. For me, trying to date a straight woman is the equivalent of taking two buses, a train and a ferry to play in a little league game; sure this is fun, but they’ve got games that are just as fun close to my house.

That’s not to say that I don’t look. I like eye candy as much as the next person. But when it comes to an awkward moment where hands graze and you have to question your sexuality, you don’t have to worry about that from me. You are my shopping buddy, my roll dawg. I am as aroused by you as I am by this chair (which is not at all…unless it starts vibrating, then we can work something out).

Don’t think this means that all lesbians have the same rules as I. Some women love the chase, so they’ll will put up with you coming by to graze your boobs against their arm and follow it up with a period of analyzing the shit out of the experience with their friends. So if you’re hoping to be wooed by our team, fear not, there are active recruiters among us that are willing to put in the time and effort. Though I’m pretty sure that you’re a little gay and you just need to find the right one to bring it out of you, I’m a no pressure sales person. When you need the product, you’ll come looking for someone to help you with your transaction.

Sleeping is Awesome

Wed, 10 Nov 2010 16:51:15 -0500

While I was driving home from work yesterday, the DJ on the local hip-hop station played a few lines from an old Nas song. In the song he says, “I never sleep, cuz sleep is the cousin of death.” It occurs to me that I’ve been hearing a lot of this “I’m not sleeping, therefore I’m extra productive” business lately. I read people’s Facebook statuses and they brag about how little they’ve slept lately, but rather, have stayed up “grinding” all night. Frankly, you can have that.

I love sleeping. This probably comes as no surprise, since I wrote about having to break up with my couch earlier this year, but it’s deeper than just me being lazy. Even when I’m having my most productive moments, what keeps me running at full steam is a good night’s sleep.

When did it become cool to “work” so hard that you don’t sleep? I’m not talking about the people who have two jobs with kids at home that really can’t find an extra second to sleep. I’m talking about the people who are allegedly ignoring their body’s natural urge to sleep so they can presumably work all night, though we know they’re up playing Call of Duty. Either way, it’s not making me envy your life. I’m a bitch on wheels when I’m tired. I’m wildly unfocused and as a result, unproductive. You start getting clumsy (clumsier in my case) and usually cranky as hell. I was watching the news a couple days ago and they brought up a study that AAA did about sleepy drivers. Drowsy driving is a form of impaired driving, and can be just as dangerous as driving drunk or while texting. You know what’s fucking scary? Driving tired and not realizing how you got to where you are.

Turning your life into an all-nighter regularly is doing your body a disservice beyond the fact that you’re going to be a huge dick if you don’t get some sleep. While you’re resting your weary bones, your white blood cells are fighting off would-be infections and making you stronger. And why would one brag about operating at a sub-par level? First off, when someone gloats about how little sleep they get as if it’s a badge of honor, we all assume they’re lying. Anyone who truly is missing out on sleep because they’re working says so with tears in their eyes, eager for the day that they can stop working through the exhaustion and have a regular life. Secondly, I question the output. Do your job on a good night’s sleep then do it again with a 2 hour power nap and see which day you feel better about.

It’s ok to sleep. I’m pretty sure Nas’s 18 year old, pot-smoking ass was lying anyway. Rappers wake up at 2pm and THEN go into the “lab” until 3am. And have you ever been in a booth with rappers? It’s all pot smoke and merriment; I wouldn’t want to go to sleep either! You, working in your cubicle for 8 hours then coming home and doing your side business after that, have now worked at least 12 hours straight. You and Nas’s lives are not the same. I’m not saying he didn’t work hard, but it’s a lot different when you’re a kid. Who doesn’t remember the days of funneling 15 beers and waking up to run a marathon the next day with nary a headache? You can do that shit when you’re a kid. But after the age of 25, take your ass to bed. No one will doubt your productivity if you take 8 hours a day to rejuvenate your body. Seriously, we will thank you for it when you’re not murdering people out of sleep deprivation.

It's Heeeere!

Thu, 04 Nov 2010 16:48:17 -0400

Unless you’re one of those people who doesn’t watch tv, doesn’t eat fast food and therefore doesn’t live your best life, you’re probably aware that the McRib is back. When it comes to shit America eats that will bring on an amazing heart ~~attack~~ explosion, the McRib is right up there with those Luther Burgers. Coming in at 500 Calories, 26 grams of fat and 980 milligrams of sodium, this sandwich is the arch nemesis of your waistline.

I’m not much of a meat eater. Not even for health reasons, but I don’t really get the big deal about meat when potatoes are 10x more delicious. But for some reason, the McRib holds a special place in my heart (most likely in an artery) and when it comes back around I sort of lose my shit. I find myself making my way to McDonald’s multiple times a week for the beast of a sandwich. Last time I had a McRib, I lived a stone’s throw away from the McDonald’s selling them, and would wake up in the morning reeking of onions, covered in red sauce wondering what I was doing with my life. Thankfully, I’m boo’d up now, and that means I have to take better care of both my waistline and wallet. No longer can I eat the mass of rib shaped “meat” for lunch and sneak out for a second after dinner.

This time around I’ve only been twice (That’s a huge accomplishment since it’s been out for two weeks) and I feel like something’s changed. Maybe the bbq sauce to bread ratio was off or maybe I’ve become too old to ignore nutritional facts, but I think my addiction to the crack is waning. Part of my desire to go back isn’t because my last hit was so fantastic, but because it wasn’t as fantastic as I remember it being. I want to give them another chance to keep my love strong before it disappears for another 7 years. This can’t be it, McRib. We can’t end like this. Unfortunately, if my third McRib doesn’t blow my mind, it may have to be my last. I mean, I’ll still hit it when you come to town, but I’m not going to go out of my way to get in contact with you….you knew what this was.

The Guide to Keeping Your Man (Spoiler Alert: There Isn't One)

Wed, 03 Nov 2010 16:19:29 -0400

As a woman, I’m frequently given unsolicited advice on how to keep my man. Pick up at least three popular women’s periodicals and at least two are offering you advice on how to keep your man happy. I haven’t dated a man in quite some time, but from what I remember, their needs are few. Feed them, water them, stimulate their sexual organs, talk to them now and again. Other than being fickle with natural light, keeping a man happy is much like keeping a house plant alive according to these magazines.

When these needs somehow prove not to be enough and a man strays, often the first thing I hear is, “you ladies need to keep your man happy, because what you won’t do, another chick will!” So a woman can work hard all day, help the kids with homework, stimulate his mind with interesting conversation, cook delicious and nutritious meals every night…but if she doesn’t give him a blowjob, his infidelity is her fault? Good to know. Especially priceless is when women tout the idiom themselves. They say it with a matter-of-fact tone as if they’ve never been hurt by a wandering eye or a drifting hand. At this age, I’ve only met a handful of individuals who have not been cheated on (to their knowledge). Speaking from experience, it is both painful and mortifying when the person to whom you’ve given your heart breaks your trust simply because they want to and they don’t have the guts to discuss their feelings with you like an adult. There are a myriad of other feelings in there, but for me those two stood out the loudest of all. That’s because I was the woman who kept her lover happy. I did things that were so outside of myself that I look back now and laugh. It’s sort of like I didn’t get cheated on, but a bad parody of myself did. Not just sexually, but in other ways as well. And later I found out that another woman was also doing the things that I was doing, he just wanted two. So wtf is the point in trying to keep someone happy, when I could just do me, be happy and do what I’m capable of doing to keep them happy too?

Sometimes people are just selfish assholes. Can we be done with this “boys will be boys” spin on cheating and forcing women to examine their lives and choices for reasons why? Doing things that you aren’t comfortable with to keep a man* is just stupid. A person shouldn’t be made to feel even worse when their partner is the one in the wrong. If my spouse were to come to me and say, “I want to poke you with a cattle prod while we’re doing it,” I’m supposed to say, “sure!” just because I don’t want you to cheat on me? Fuck that. That’s not happening, come up with a new fantasy! You tried your luck, I said no, relationship goes on. “Well you shouldn’t be surprised when she cheats because I hear Becky** LOVES to get poked with cattle prods!” You’re damn right, I can! Because if I am to understand that we are in a monogamous, cattle prod-free relationship, then you getting it on with someone else for any reason is off limits and, yes, a surprise to me! Y’know what, if this is such an insatiable urge that you’re willing to risk everything we’ve built with each other just to get the thousand volts of passion that I denied you, I probably I deserve better anyway.

*I use man because that’s the expression. In this case, it could mean anyone.

**Why are Becky’s getting the shit end of the stick lately? First she was a judgemental bitch hatin on rap guy’s girlfriends and earlier today I learned that “Becky” is a slang term for a blowjob. wtf did Becky do?

It Does Get Better...For All Kinds

Tue, 26 Oct 2010 16:58:14 -0400

I’m sure you’ve seen horrible stories lately about children being bullied to the point of taking their own lives. While the focus last week was homosexual victims, many children and teens are tortured by their peers daily for many other reasons. As I’m sure you’re aware, it’s far from just a gay problem, and we should be actively teaching (and practicing) respect to the children in our lives. That said, I’m glad that we showed that we are queer or ally and we don’t want this to keep happening to our youth.

Throughout the day (last Wednesday, if you were unaware) I saw some status messages and tweets of people saying that wearing purple wasn’t enough. Some people said that wearing a color to show support is all in vain if we’re not backing it up with action. On some level, I agree…or at least I see where these people are coming from. It’s easy to get up in the morning and put on a shirt, but what happens next? What about making changes to the way teachers, administrators and parents deal with bullying, or entering the lives of children who are being picked on day after day and giving them a release from their hell?

On the other hand, sometimes putting on a shirt is all you can do. Some people don’t have the time to mentor, the knowledge to tell a teacher how to control a bully, or maybe they just don’t want to do more. But what they can and are willing to do is put on a purple shirt and let anyone walking by know without opening their mouths that they are accepting of young queers and that they’re not as alone as they may feel.

Growing up I didn’t feel that being gay was wrong, but I definitely felt like I wasn’t normal. I didn’t know anyone that was adult, gay and leading even an average life. Ellen came out while I was in middle or high school but even so, she was a celebrity living in California. As far as I was concerned, her life looked nothing like mine. I tried convincing myself that I couldn’t be gay because I looked like no lesbian I’d ever seen before. I often wonder what a difference this “It Gets Better” campaign would’ve made in my life if it existed when I was in high school. Would I have been so hard on myself to fit into the hetero mold? Would I have tried even harder to fit into the lesbian mold that I thought I had to when I finally came out? Or would I have just taken a look at all the purple shirts surrounding me, letting me know that it doesn’t matter what I look like because we’re everywhere? I would see that someone somewhere thinks the mold that I was born in is just fine. I don’t have to scream into bullhorns, ask people to sign petitions and tell people how much they should be doing if they really love the gays, but I can just sit and quietly BE gay. That’s all some of these kids want to see: gays living their lives. The rainbow flags, pride parades and house music is all nice when you’re in the mood, but what about the gays that garden on the weekend and go to a straight club and don’t worry about their safety when they’re outed? Their visibility can be just as important as those fighting the fight with fists of fury.

We could always be doing more…but we could’ve done nothing. And doing nothing is why we lost those poor children in the first place. There’s a place for all of us in this quest for equality and we can’t alienate those who choose to take a smaller role.

If you find yourself wanting to help more, but aren’t sure where to start, here are some links to some organizations:

GLAAD (Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation)

It Gets Better Project

GLSEN (Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network)

True Colors (smaller scale than the others I’ve listed and they do awesome work!)