where am i going and why am i in this handbasket?

Neil was so kind as to send me a link that sufficiently put a damper on my evening. American Revolution/Civil War/Great Depression 2.0 all rolled up in one come 2012. Doesn't this guy predict any good things? For pete's sake... I bet he doesn't get a lot of dinner party invites.

That's not to say I can't see where Jerry's coming from. I mean, to the majority of America, the whole collapse of our economy might have come as a surprise, but really- if you had been paying attention, the United States has been circling the shitter for quite some time now. The haves and have-nots have been getting further and further removed. While the Prius and Honda hybrids were sitting in the driveways of hippies and Nader supporters, Hummers and giant SUVs were getting pimped with personal DVD players for each and every kid. People were selling their 2,000 square foot homes because they needed more room for the second child they were expecting.

As the President-elect pointed out, instead of putting money into alternative energy, we've been throwing money in construction- bigger houses, bigger hotels, bigger buildings. Unless GM develops cars that run on oak cabinets and wall-to-wall carpeting, those were not so much great investments as they were (and are) money pits.

There's a cyclical nature to life. In most cultures, religions, societies, etc, there is some kind of circle of life- not just a Lion King circle of life, but one where things come and go, whether it's life, health, money, trends. In the mid 80s, environmentalism was huge. Saving the rain forests, recycling, endangered species- it was all the rage. Then, people got distracted. The Internet came around, and all of a sudden, people were making money, a lot of it. Technology was moving fast, and society couldn't keep up. Supply and demand went all out of whack, and the excesses that made us all fat and happy also made us lazy.

We thought ourselves infallible, and when the World Trade Center attacks occurred, it was all the more devastating because we suddenly realized that we were not invincible after all- in fact, we were terribly vulnerable. We had an enemy that we knew nothing about. It was becoming all the more difficult to concentrate on finding the new Xbox rather than what was happening around the world.

All great empires come to an end. They all fall, sooner or later. Holy Roman, Ottoman, British, and many more, have come and gone. Perhaps, in 2012, we'll see the beginning of the end of America's dominance in the world. Or not. But I don't think Gerald Celente is all that prophetic. He's just been paying attention.

put a ring on it

Apparently I'm having some sort of creative burst lately. I'm sure a drought will come soon enough, but maybe I can bust out enough to get you through.

I recently had a bit of my writing published in CiN Weekly, the Cincinnati Enquirer's weekly YP-geared paper. And when I reflected upon it in its published state (it's bits and pieces of previous posts on here, mostly), it comes off as very pro-monogamy. Monogamy is well and good, but that wasn't really my point. It was more anti-bullshit and anti-excuses than pro-monogamy. If you want to sow, sow. Just don't put a ring on it. I have absolutely no problems with "players" or the George Clooneys of the world. It's the Eliot Spitzers who go and get married and then mess around.

I've theorized (there's no real work in theorizing, which is what I like about it) that you can break down attraction and intimacy and commitment into three stages (you can sort it out a lot of other ways, but stick with me for a sec). First, you like each other. You want to see each other and make out and blah blah blah. Then you start wanting them to be yours. You don't want them to be with other people. You get jealous. You think, I need to make this person my boyfriend/girlfriend so that he/she can't be with other people. The ultimate level (and THIS is the level you should get to before making a commitment) is when YOU don't want to be with anyone else. You can't build a relationship on keeping someone away from others. Which is why so-called "girl-power" anthems like Beyonce's "Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It)" are misleading, and probably damaging to relationships. It's basically saying, oh, you regret letting me go? You should have made a commitment. No! You should make a commitment because it's that important to you to devote yourself to making this person a part of your life, making them happy, and being a better person for it.

Not to get sappy- because honestly, I don't see more value in commitment and monogamy than I do in sowing seeds and being George Clooney. As long as you're authentic and honest to yourself and others, there's no greater validity in any choice of lifestyle, as far as I'm concerned.

I'm not pro-monogamy. I'm not pro-polygamy. I'm not really pro-anything except do what results in a social exchange profit of maximum satisfaction for you and minimum cost to others.

A ring is not a leash. Nor is it bait. So no need to put one on it.

Put a glove on it, though- just the PSA of the day.

Peace out, kids

age ain't nothing but a number

Isn't it mad creepy that Aaliyah's first album was called that- given that it was produced by R. Kelly? And the rumors that they got married when she was 15? And then the later child pornography charges against Kelly? Age apparently is only a number for R. But I digress.

It is one week short of my 30th birthday. I'm pretty excited about it- because I've always been excited about my birthday. I think I make a big deal about it because it's smack dab between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and 3 days after my father's. If I didn't make a big deal about it, no one would.

In this era of Sex and the City and cougar-mania, they say that 40 is the new 20. Which I guess means I'm kind of turning 10. I'm okay with that. I certainly don't feel like a grown-up yet. People laugh when I say that I'm excited about turning 30 because I'm hoping to become less dumb. But I'm serious- I acknowledge my ignorance and I welcome opportunities to do something about it. We're all dumb about a lot of stuff (in the same line, we are all smart about a lot of stuff too). The sooner you realize it, the better.

I guess I could say that my life now isn't what I pictured for life at 30. But the truth is, I never really pictured my life at 30. Or 40. Or 25. Or 65. Whatever. I'm not a future-focused person. Nor am I a past-focused person. It's all about the present and what is fun and good and soul-satisfying right now. When I was about 8 or 9, I used to lay awake at night and obsess over my future- not details, but my own mortality. Heavy stuff for a 3rd grader, so since then I just don't think about it. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, and I'm not necessarily certain that there is one thing that I will be happy to do my whole life. On par with other 30-year-olds, I might be behind the curve. I'm not a "YP." I have a master's degree that is useful only in having something to fill that frame I bought. I still like to go out and dance until 3am on a Wednesday night. I hate waking up early. I hate wearing suits. I have no desire to get married any time soon, and I'm not sure kids will ever be in my future. I don't wanna grow up. I'm not a Toys 'R' Us kid, either. I am perfectly happy suspended in this state of arrested development. And some guy guessed my age as 23 the other day, so I can probably rock this boat a bit longer.

I'm not stressed about turning 30. It's presumptuous to say, but I'm fairly certain 40, 50, et al will be okay too. It is just a number, and as long as I stay a late bloomer, I'm sure it will be all the easier to bear.

Closing in on 30, but not maturity.

i enjoy being a girl

I've always loved sports. Watching them, I mean. Refer to the previous post where I bemoan the injustices of being a female sports fan- a tried and true sports fan who knows statistics and understands strategies and can watch golf for over 4 hours straight. I'm not any good at sports- I'm not coordinated, and I get most of my aerobic activity through walking my dog and dancing a lot.

In addition to my love of sports, I'm tomboy-ish in other ways. I wear a lot of jeans and t-shirts and baseball hats. I hate chick flicks. I am prone to blunt honesty and I love dirty jokes. I'm a major commitment-phobe in every sense of the word- my only long-term commitment is to my cell phone. I have a low voice, and a Northern US accent, and in the morning, I can be mistaken for a man over the phone. I refer to men as dudes and women as chicks.

So, people who see these aspects of my personality tend to think I fall into a masculine kind of identity (and have been known to question my sexuality- trust me, I'm pleased to be straight... chicks are crazy and dudes are dumb. Men are clearly easier to handle). Thus, it tends to surprise them that:

• I have subscriptions to Glamour, Marie Claire, Lucky, even Cosmopolitan
• I love makeup and fashion and hairstyling. Even though I wear my hair in a ponytail almost every day, I have a knack for styling (inherited from my beautician mother) and my hair has been long, short, dark, blond, and had pink highlights. I have been asked by professional makeup artists and Sephora employees how I do my makeup and what products I use.
• I am totally addicted to HGTV.
  
• I only recently edited my purse collection to a somewhat manageable 20 purses.
• I own a Britney Spears CD.
• I was in a sorority.
• While I fear commitment, I have always (and I mean ALWAYS) been boy-crazy. I have to have a crush on someone all the time. It changes often, but there has to be someone to daydream about.
• The only gadgets I am interested in are beauty products. I still have my original Nintendo gaming system, and it's the only video game player I have ever used- period. Nothing beyond Super Mario 3 and Tetris for me, thanks.

Despite all appearances to the contrary, I am a bit of a girly-girl. Next time you're sitting at BW-3s and the girl next to you is complaining about the Bengals punting on 4-and-1 at the 15-yard line, or extolling the virtues of the under-appreciated baseball catchers, give her some credit for being a girl. Especially if, like me, she tends to wear sparkly eyeliner and carry a giant, patent-leather purse.

While I appreciate my tomboy tendencies, I also enjoy being a girl.

encore

The final installment- at least for now...

• Regarding fried macaroni and cheese bites- clearly, someone looked at mozzarella sticks and said, "That's just too healthy. I think I'll add processed cheese and pasta." I have a sneaking suspicion that anti-American terrorists are really the ones behind all the fried food madness. Somewhere, in the Deep South, there's a dude burning flags and frying Snickers.
• On one hand, the beginning of the month is when my rent, utilities, cable/internet, and insurance are all due. On the other, it's when I get all my magazine subscriptions. It makes going to the mailbox a really conflicted affair.
• I like to read the "missed connections" ads on craigslist. It kind of makes me wish I didn't boycott Wal-Mart so I could attempt to confirm all of the "sexy blonde ladies" who shop there.
• To my dog: how do you choose that particular spot to poop? There must be factors, since you circled it for 5 minutes. Even when there's 45 stalls in a public restroom, I can still choose one in about 30 seconds. What do you know, Deva?
• In my attempt to save the planet, I use reusable grocery bags. Unfortunately, I have run out of plastic bags to pick up the aforementioned poops. So, while I attempt to procure bags in other ways (Kroger is really confused when you ask them for the bags they collect to recycle), I did end up having to get a box of poop bags. My guilt was tempered by the fact that they are biodegradable (and I still haven't had to use them). But, the small print under "100% biodegradable" is "except by California standards." What does California know that we don't?
• To the man driving the Chevy Aveo with a Cherry Bomb muffler (those really loud ones): I will never understand you. Ever.
• In Playboy, they were giving advice on how to hit on a woman who you only saw while she was working (server, store clerk, bartender, etc). On the subject of gratuity, they recommended that you tip the customary 20% "so she knows you don't see her as a prostitute." Speaking as a female bartender, I know you don't see me as a prostitute, because I'm not offering you sex on a street corner. Tip me as much as you want and I promise not to feel objectified.
  

I'm fairly certain I'm done with these for now. I felt pressured with October coming up and not having a post in September. I could promise that I'll do better next month, but I don't want to lie to you.

act ii

More of me, thinking I'm funny...

• I hate when a music snob is looking through my iPod... any cred I might establish with the Black Keys is going to be immediately revoked when they get to Blessed Union of Souls. Damn it, I'm equal opportunity in music, don't judge me.
• Dear facebook, myspace, gmail, tmz, and perez hilton: Thank you for making me late all the time with absolutely no excuse that isn't totally embarrassing. "Hi, sorry I'm 15 minutes late, but I had to find out what happened with Jennifer Aniston and John Mayer."
• My public service of the day: Although I figured it was about insurance, I finally had to log on to nowwhat.com. It's State Farm, but I must say it's the most entertaining insurance site ever. My apartment ninja was a Worthy Rat on my first try. Beat that. Or, you can have a life and just take the knowledge what the site is about.
• Maybe it’s because I consider myself a writer of sorts, but I feel a lot of pressure to be overly clever with my facebook, myspace, and gmail status messages. If I can’t be witty in 8-10 words, it’s just not worth trying anymore.
• I am so annoyed with John Edwards. Not because he cheated on his wife. Because he gave a tiny shred of credibility to the National Enquirer. They will cling to this like the last chopper out of Vietnam.
• Thank you, gmail invisibility option. You are my 21st century caller ID and I love you for it.
• The Olympics are irrelevant, right? I love sports, but this isn't really a sports event. It's all heartwarming stories and VISA commercials. Is there a petition I can sign or something?
• Grocery stores and other entities that refer to toilet paper as “bath tissue:” you are sending an extremely dangerous message about what is acceptable bath behavior.
• When my dirty laundry has reached epic proportions, it becomes necessary to wear one of those fancy, lacy bras that I never wear. When I try to put it on, I feel like I’m 9 years old again, trying to put on my first bra. Everything is backwards and twisted. It’s like I made my own corset.
• There are few things more detrimental to the self-esteem than accidentally catching a glimpse of yourself in a magnifying mirror.
• I like looking in people’s windows as I’m walking by. Not in a creepy way, and I don’t linger- I don’t even pause or slow my walking. But I cannot resist the opportunity to peek into someone’s life without them knowing- the lack of self-awareness allows someone to be totally honest.

it's like a stand-up act, but i'm sitting and alone

UPDATE: These are all "jokes" I made up- not copied from others. That will explain why it really is only funny to me.

A lot of these are only funny to me. It's okay. I read this blog too.

• When presented with an opportunity to sell your soul to the devil, keep in mind that not only will you have eternal damnation facing you at death's door, you just know that Satan is going to be calling you up for favors in the meantime.
• Upon learning that Bill Clinton can complete the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle, in pen, in 20 minutes, I thought to myself, I bet George W. Bush has to do word seeks in pencil.
• I saw an acrylic chair for sale for $461. I thought my goal since college should have been to NOT have plastic furniture.
• What ensures the security of the service industry in this country is the huge number of lazy, inconsiderate assholes.
• There is a product called Super Manure. It's the shit.
• People who live in stone houses shouldn't throw glass.
• For that matter, neither should people in wood houses.
• Or straw.
• And watch out for wolves.
  
• I saw a married couple buying condoms. I thought that was kind of weird, but then I thought maybe they're not married to each other.
• At the hospital I worked at, there was a sign saying that the room had been donated by Mr. and Mrs. Carter. It made me wonder what had been there before and the difficulty of installation.
• At the same hospital, I saw a sign promoting something called Walk to Cure Diabetes. I don't want to be a negative Nelly, but I think they should still have some insulin around.
• Am I the only person that, when the car wash starts, has a little panic attack that the windows aren't up all the way?
• The best part of having your own house is not having your neighbors hear your multiple flush poops.
• My own personal superstition: When you drop the soap in the shower, someone is having a sexual fantasy about you. Spread the word.
• When a flock of birds flies over you, aren't you a little surprised when you don't get pooped on?
• Shouldn't People magazine's Sexiest Man Alive be the same guy until he dies?
• I was watching a home and garden show about people using junk to make furniture. Before a break, they said "What can you do with an old iron chair, some boat chains, and old rowboat oars?" And I thought... abuse GitMo prisoners?
• You know what would be depressing? If you were talking to a deaf person and they close their eyes.
• On a house-hunting show, there was an Asian guy with a WASP voice saying, "the only thing I'm not digging is that the appliances seem kind of old-school." Talk about a culture clash.
• Writers have low-enough self-esteem to be miserable, but high enough to think people care about their misery.
• Advice to rich/famous men/women (especially men): Don't get married. There will be plenty of people who want to hang out and bone you and even have your kids. But no matter how iron-clad your pre-nup is, you'll waste a lot of time and money fighting it in court. Just bone and pay child support as necessary.

Thanks for indulging my inner comedian. I'm sure more of these will plop out sooner or later.

By the way- anyone who is not easily offended, I've got a great joke for you. But it's not going on here.

the burden of proof

For those of you who may not have been aware, I'm a chick. I know, the name throws folks off, but it's true. I serve as the proud home of a couple of Fallopian tubes. Good for me.

The reason I am noting this is a prelude to today's topic- why can't a chick just like sports and not have to deal with bullshit? I've wrestled with this issue for years- see the June 2001 issue of ESPN The Magazine and the "Two-Way with Stuart Scott" as reference to my continuing dilemma. For some reason, when I mention I am a sports fan, it immediately emasculates any men present. For example, I was at work at City View on Monday. My first customer was a dude that had hating on his mind from the moment he walked in. I had been watching That 70s Show and he said, "why isn't SportsCenter on?" I didn't feel it necessary to go into the fact that I don't watch ESPN until everyone gets there because they cover the same stories on First and 10, Jim Rome is Burning, Around the Horn, Pardon the Interruption, et cetera. But whatev. So I hand him the remote and make his burger.

Within the next half hour, a few more folks have trickled in, including Dude's Friend and a couple of regulars. Jim Rome was on at this point. I would say I hate Jim Rome, but I don't truly hate anyone. But I do think he's annoying, rarely makes a good point, and he talks too loud. (Billy Banks called and he wants his outside voice back). I mentioned my distaste for Rome, and Dude asked (and this was not a friendly ask, by the way) why I didn't like him. I gave those reasons, and added that his precisely trimmed goatee was repulsive (well, it is). Apparently, Dude has recently been neutered or something, because he was just jonesing for a fight. He started asking me my opinions on all things sports- Brett Favre (Brett, yes you're awesome. But you're dicking around with a city full of fans that worship the ground you walk on and it's not fair. You're like the dude that keeps calling his ex-girlfriend. Give them some time to grieve, keep your word, and do some endorsement deals and wait for the inevitable call from Fox to host MNF). Chad Johnson (I could so care less about his whining- the only reason it was a story was because everyone paid attention to him. See previous posts for more thoughts on 85). Dusty Baker (there's only so much you can do with a little bit of pitching and even less offense. However, I do think he's too nice to the players and should start running a tighter ship. Sparky, we miss you). Then it moved on to politics- am I a Hillary fan? Well, it's kind of like rooting for the San Diego Padres at this point... "there's always 2012." Anyway, it's not a matter of being a fan- it's a matter of agreement on policy. But, Dude was just interested in fighting for fighting's sake, which is a drain when I'm trying to work.

I would be lying if I said I didn't know why men feel the need to question my interest in sports. (Well, more than an interest... I love them). It's silly. Honestly- one guy once asked me who held the home run record. Really? And no, I don't know every single person who plays every single sport- I don't memorize every stat, and I don't watch SC 3 times a day. I have to leave room in my brain for things like dirty jokes, who John Mayer is dating, and my blood type (AB negative, if you need any). But honestly, it gets old. Yes, I like sports... more than most girls, and more than a lot of guys. Fortunately, my breasts don't get in the way of the game (well, usually). So give a chick some credit... save the quiz for the 4th inning AFLAC trivia question.

fallen idol: epilogue

On the 4th of July, the comic at Natalie Dee had a familiar ring...


nataliedee.com

"prelude to an email" is the title

FYI: here's a transcript of the note in the cartoon (I realize it's getting cut off)

"Dear Natalie,

I am an avid reader of your site, however, I was not pleased with today's comic, "Flying Chicken." I will have you know that chickens cannot fly. I know this because I am a chicken doctor, and also it was in Wikipedia.

Please remove this comic from your archive, or I will never read your site again.

Thank you for your prompt attention in regards to this issue.

Sincerely,
Richard Poultry
Chicken MD"

This is the closest to fame I'm likely to get.

Enjoy

fallen idol

It's always disappointing when you meet someone you admired and they turn out to be a total asshole. I was slightly bummed when I finally got to meet my baseball crush, Danny Graves at RedsFest 2001. Granted, it's not the most fun a professional baseball player can have (I don't think I want to know the details of the most fun a professional baseball player can have). And I'm fairly certain that since he was married, he was not going to fall in love with me at first sight. But the fact that I had to beg him to sign an autograph for an elderly woman in a wheelchair, it took a little luster off him.

One of my favorite comics is the comic at nataliedee.com. Natalie and her husband Drew each create a comic each day, as well as one they collaborate on. I've been a fan since Sara introduced them to me when I was working at C+RA. Her blog was funny, and her advice, while a little harsh, was usually spot on. However, I was slightly bothered by the tagline on the internet header- Natalie Dee: "America's Favorite Cracker." For those folk who do not know the origin of the slur cracker (and I didn't until not too long ago), it has nothing to do with the fact that snack crackers are white and flaky. It actually refers to cracking the whip- on slaves. So it's really just as derogatory to blacks as it is to whites. It had bothered me for some time, and this morning, I finally decided to email Natalie and make sure she was aware of the slur's origin. I prefaced by saying what a big fan I was.

Her response made my disappointment with Danny appear like a dream come true. She began with a lecture as to the literary device of using tongue-in-cheek language, and even included a link to the Wikipedia site on tongue-in-cheek (because Wikipedia is the ultimate authority). Then she "thanked" me because the internet might have thought she was a slavemaster herself. I would have liked to include a verbatim reproduction of the exchange, but I couldn't get express written consent as advised in her e-mail disclaimer. I know what you're thinking- the enforcement of binding email disclaimers is basically nonexistent. In trying to be a decent person, I asked for her permission to reproduce it anyway. She replied no, and insinuated that the entire intention of my email was to reproduce some criticism on my blog (with my millions of readers, I know). I didn't really consider it until I got the most pretentious response to a letter that was nothing but respectful and appreciative. But, since I'm not a complete asshole (although I am an asshole), I will respect her wishes, despite her lack of respect for me. However, I will include the original email I sent to her and you can determine for yourself whether her tutorial on literary devices (if you can call the definition of tongue-in-cheek a literary device) and her admonishment regarding my reproduction was warranted. Enjoy:

Dear Natalie,

I would like to start off by saying I am a huge fan. My friend introduced me to your comics (as well as Drew's) over a year ago, and the first day I read every single one that had been posted, and have visited the site every day since. I am looking forward to the store re-opening now that I have a little disposable income to spend on it.

I had noticed that the new tagline on your site title is "America's Favorite Cracker." I am not sure the significance behind that choice- I'd be happy to be enlightened. However, I had learned a few months ago the origin of the slang term cracker for white people. I had always thought it was because crackers (especially saltines) were white and flaky. Unfortunately, I was wrong. It actually refers to slave masters (cracking a whip). So it's not really a nice thing for white people or black people. Since I (and most people I know) did not know the negative connotations that were involved in the term, I thought maybe you were not aware either.

I apologize if I'm overstepping my bounds as a fan- I just want to make sure that as many people can enjoy Natalie Dee like I do.

Thanks for your humor and making me feel like there is someone with the same crazy sense of humor as I have.

Have a great day,

Dale

There you have it, kids... perhaps I am being overly sensitive. But maybe that sensitivity allows me to acknowledge that being a total asshole is not always necessary.

let's talk about sex

Before I launch into my latest rambling- I just realized that most of my post titles are from music. For those of you who have may have already noticed, it has been unintentional until now, and I feel a bit of pressure to decide if I should maintain the music theme or just forget it. I think WAY too much.

People make a big stink about marriage nowadays. The legalization of gay marriage in California, the criminalization of gay marriage in Ohio, half of marriages ending in divorce, Britney Spears marrying men seemingly at random. And as I take note of some of the media being thrown our way, it's no wonder everyone's fucked up.

There's a Coors Light commercial that I absolutely hate. There is a couple sitting on a sofa when the male gets a phone call, listens and then turns to the female and says, "It's Joe...he really needs to... vent." And she replies, "you should go." Dude leaves and arrives at Joe's apartment, "ready to vent?" and holds up a case of Coors Light, "ready to vent!" Joe replies. Flash forward to Joe, 2 other guys, and Dude on the phone, with the girl saying "is he going to be okay?" and Dude replying, "I think we might be venting a little longer." Hangs up phone, and guys all cheer some sporting play.

This commercial is encouraging the notion that married/attached men will only be "allowed" to hang out with their buddies if he makes up a story indicating that they will be emoting and not having any fun at all. The problem is, a lot of women will insist on that- no having fun without me! I'm the only one capable of bringing fun into your life! Any time you are having fun without me lessens my self-worth, because I'm only as important as a man makes me to be! Ugh... an endless cycle of whining women and scheming men.

Cosmopolitan magazine- the clearest indication of the coming apocalypse besides George W. getting elected TWICE- recently ran a feature (they are called features because stories would involve both paragraphs and thoughts) about how to spy on your man (a horrible term for someone with whom you have a relationship). It detailed where you should look (including his medicine cabinet, trash, glove box, mail, cell phone, gym bag and laundry) if you think he might be keeping something from you. If you are going through dirty socks and coffee grounds, you have far bigger problems than a potentially unfaithful boyfriend. For instance, you are clinically insane. When I read Cosmo, I can almost hear the relationships ending. When I wonder to myself why I don't have some kick-ass boyfriend (being as I'm a kick-ass chick) and why there are so many cool guys with some crazy-ass women... I realize that Cosmo has catalyzed this notion that men are incurable horndogs and women are psychos. Which to an extent is true, but they are not helping the situation.

There was a guy on The Colbert Report the other day talking about how men are not by nature monogamous. Well, duh. And that men like Eliot Spitzer should be empathized with and understood as just being male. I know- boning hookers is Spitz's cross to bear... tough life. Here's the thing: whenever I hear someone say that people are not inherently monogamous, I think, of course not. That's the point of monogamy. There's a great line in the movie A League of Their Own when Tom Hanks is talking to Geena Davis. Davis wants to quit playing baseball, and says it's too hard. Hanks says- "Of course it's hard. If it was easy, everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great." It's kind of how I feel about monogamy. If it was easy for you to be committed to one person and avoid acting on temptation- well, then, what's the point? The idea is that you make a commitment, you override the reptilian part of your brain that wants only to mate, preferably with someone who has admirable plumage. That's what is supposed to make us just a little bit more civilized than the other animals on this planet. That, and our ability to kill fellow members of our species for shits and giggles and oil.

On the other hand, I once went to a mega-church that made me feel so far from God, I thought I was in a level of hell even Dante couldn't imagine. I happened to make my one visit on the first day of a lecture series on Love & Sex. Lucky me- I was more concerned with Jobs & Money at the time. The beginning of the... service? show? whatever... was an interview with a comically costumed Satan. He was being asked his view on the various issues, or at least variations, of sex. (I don't know if In the Devil's Studio was a regular installment at this church, as I have never returned). By way of some clever reverse psychology, it was implied that God is NOT in favor of homosexuality, premarital sex, oral sex, or masturbation. During the service, and for about three weeks after, I was too disturbed to be able to analyze the whole thing. But now, in later reflection, I wondered what kind of release was acceptable for sexual tension. Here's my hunch- dry humping. They didn't say ANYTHING about dry-humping. I've got to figure that typical pre-service conversations go somewhere along the lines of "I'm going to grab a coffee, want to dry hump after church?" I won't even go into the fact that the worship leader (they are called that because I think you have to go school to be a minister) said that the passion and ecstasy that we feel when we have sex (and while he didn't say it, I'm assuming he includes orgasms in that passion and ecstasy... Satan didn't say anything about orgasms, so I hope they are okay) is the same passion that God feels for us. Which is unsettling. I like God. I could even consider myself to love him. But God feeling sexual ecstasy for me makes me think that maybe that's what the Catholic priests tell themselves when they are manhandling little boys. Ew.

Here's the thing- we all like sex. We all look at sexy people and think, "YUM!" Women are no less likely to want to bone random guys (Cristiano Ronaldo- I'm looking at you) and men are no less capable of monogamy. And God loves you no matter how you like to bone, however, I think he would definitely rather you not manhandle the children. And Dude, just go drink beer with your friends... then Chick can go shake her ass at a dance club and get free drinks from men having mid-life crises.

However- no glove, no love, kids... STDs can really wreck a mood.

a semi-original song

I wrote this about a year ago, and while spring cleaning my memory stick, I thought I'd put it up here for your enjoyment. Sung to the tune of "My Favorite Things" from the Sound of Music, it's creatively titled, "My Favorite Things: The 2007 Edition"

Although I never watched Sex & the City, and don't plan on seeing the movie, it seems to fit its release.

Enjoy...

Negative pregnancy tests and false lashes
Manolos and Dooneys and butt-slimming sashes
Knuckle-bending diamond engagement rings,
These are a few of my favorite things!

When I feel fat,
When my man’s gone,
When my boss is mad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don’t feel so bad!

Ashlee’s rhinoplasty, Lasik, and Botox,
Everywhere you look you see Britney Spears’ box
Paris’s Bentley is all filled with dings,
These are a few of my favorite things!

When I feel fat,
When my man’s gone,
When my boss is mad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don’t feel so bad

Yoga, Pilates, and spinning classes
Anything so we have tinier asses!
When an American Idol badly sings,
These are a few of my favorite things!

When I feel fat,
When my man’s gone,
When my boss is mad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don’t feel… so… bad!

hey-ey i wanna be a rock star

I've been ruminating on the state of Cincinnati sports lately.

Chad, Chad, Chad... what's become of you? All wide receivers love attention. They are used to it. They score touchdowns, they do dances, they are flashy and all-around attention whores. Usually, the money, the women, the dancing... it's enough to suffice. But then Ocho Cinco starts getting double-teamed, and T.J. Houshmandzadeh and Carson Palmer worked together in the off-season... and suddenly, Chad doesn't get the "respect" or "love" he deserves. When Marvin and the rest of Cincinnati ignore the bellyaching, he takes his tantrum to whomever will listen. Now, he is essentially crying, pouting, and pounding his fists, all in the hopes he will receive the attention he thrives on.

Remember when Corey Dillon wanted to be traded? You got your Super Bowl ring, Corey... and essential obscurity. Congratulations. I'm sure someone besides me and a random ESPN analyst remember you exist.

Chad, tread carefully... you are a gifted athlete. But you are also a gigantic pain in the ass. And most teams only have enough head room for one egomaniac. Work on getting your attention by running your legs instead of your mouth.

And then there's the Reds... I kind of wish I had written this post before last night, when Bronson Arroyo put together what is technically considered a quality start, and a win to boot. But for every strikeout, there was a horrible JTM commercial. The image of Bronson, his hair blowing in fan (pun UNintended)-provided wind, his voice straining... It's like a bad Nickelback karaoke performance... but not as entertaining. Bronson: put down the guitar. Back away from the mic. Pick up the ball. Keep it in the yard. Rinse and repeat.

While the major-league, professional sports in Cincinnati struggle, the Cincinnati Cyclones put together a ridiculously good season (a 17 game winning streak?) and are in the finals. But that's hockey. Cincinnati is still stinging from not being allowed to join the Confederacy, and they won't be having that Yankee bullshit around here.

Speaking of the Yankees, they are evil, George Steinbrenner is the Devil, and Hank is like Dubya striving to make sure HE is remembered as the douchebag of the family. Just an aside... I just hate the Yankees.

Good night, kids

a little pick-me-up

I realize that the last few posts have been kind of bummers... and I apologize. I kind of write when something is on my mind... and when the funny stuff comes, I just say it to whomever is around and move on. The serious stuff, I don't talk about, so it stays in my head until I write on here. Sorry 'bout that.

Anyway... I'm sweeping the deck the other night at City View and there are chips everywhere... one table in particular- there had to be more chips on the ground than got into their mouths. I thought, do these people eat like this at home? Do they get up from their dining room table with a circle of bones and peas and bread crusts surrounding them, waiting for vultures (or perhaps a family dog) to clean up? And how is it possible that they are missing their mouth so much? How much do you have to drink to forget the location of your mouth?

Of course, I was making this hilarious point the other night when Sara and Neil and another friend were over... we had a good one over that. Then, yesterday evening, Sara and I had some Klotter Conconctions and cheese and crackers. Guess what was surrounding us on the floor? Aw, damn.

I just saw a preview for a movie that's playing on FX later... An Unfinished Life. "With Robert Redford, Morgan Freeman, and Jennifer Lopez.." Wha? Jennifer Lopez? Was that an accident? I'm not a movie person, and I'm pretty sure I've never seen anything that Jennifer Lopez was in. But I primarily recognize her fame for dating and marrying. I was unaware they would cast her in movies where she doesn't play a maid or wedding planner.

Note to the winner of the Indy 500- I know that whole milk thing is a tradition, but coming from someone who has been hit in the face with whipped cream pies on two separate occasions... you will not get the smell of sour milk out of your nose for two weeks.

On the topic of Chad Johnson, because he will not be content until he has permeated every corner of the planet, including my little blog... Now he is demanding to be traded. It started out with him reminding me of a high school girl who cries and complains about her boyfriend to everyone... except her boyfriend. Now he's more like a child throwing a tantrum... and Marvin Lewis is doing what parents do best- ignoring it. Honestly, Chad... first it's that you're upset that Cincinnati doesn't love you enough. Then you don't care whether people like you, you want respect. Now you want a Super Bowl ring. Honestly, Chad- there's only one thing you really want, and that's attention. That's the reason for the end zone celebrations. That's the reason for the endless supply of interviews. Is that the classiest way to handle this situation? Shut your pie hole and take care of your business without pulling a Spencer and Heidi publicity stunt. At this point, you could be the best WR in the history of the planet, and no one is going to remember anything but you being a whiny, self-absorbed crybaby.

Enough of my semi-humorous and mostly self-indulgent ramblings. Thanks, kids.

Immortality... or a lack thereof

The problem with being a writer (or someone who calls themselves a writer because they have a blog and/or a couple locally published writings) is that there is a certain level of permanence to what you have written. A sense of immortality that goes beyond the mere passing on of DNA- it's your thoughts, emotions, feelings, ideas- written out for the world to see forever. Even when it's something as trivial as this blog- I would feel it inauthentic to delete posts just because I've changed my mind. Or because I have evolved. It would be like shutting y'all out of this whole crazy process.

So, even though I have gone back and forth on grad school (yes, I'm still planning on getting the PhD, much to my chagrin), even though I've lamented being the Cute Fat Girl and am rapidly approaching Skinny Cute Girlness, and even though while I've declared my love for Jason yet know that it is highly unlikely I'll end up with him in the end- even though all that's out there... things change. But that snapshot is out there and raises doubt. I guess that's the danger in being a writer... having a blog or whatever... that people will see your struggles. While so many can keep it a secret until they come out on top, insisting that it was their plan all along... some of us suffer through every indignity, every lapse in judgment, every irrational emotion with an audience of 6 billion (no, I don't think 6 billion people read my blog... yet).

In many ways, it would be a lot easier to hide it away. It would be easier not to let people in on the crazy inside. It would be easier not to share every jolt of electrical thought current rushing through my brain. But I decided long ago that part of my life was going to be ensuring that all the people who feel like they are abnormal, deviant, sick, or alone... they are going to know that everyone has value, we are all deserving of happiness and while we are all unique, we are all in it together. So if someone is feeling down on themselves, and it makes them feel better to know that I think I'm the shit but I fuck up all the time... it's the least I can do.

I should not write at 1:30 in the morning after drinking wine. It makes me ramble.

Namaste, kids...

(Insert clever title here)

Ugh...

Life is complicated. I hate making decisions. I'm a classic commitment-phobe... not just of relationships, but of anything- careers, apartments, hairstyles.

But I guess at some point, you have to make a decision... about something.

While I'm honestly not looking forward to it, I'm planning on going to OU in fall '09 for the doctorate. I don't want to move to Athens, or live there for four years. I don't want to go back to school. I don't want to deal with any of it... but the only job I've ever really liked was teaching college. I can't see a point to my life if I am a secretary my whole life. I don't plan on having children, and if I don't do something with the career aspect of my life, I'm going to feel like I haven't had much impact on the planet.

So, I've resigned myself to realizing that shortly before my 31st birthday, I'll be moving to Athens, and starting what will likely be a very long four years. But, if I don't go, I'll still be 35 at the end of that time, and I'd probably still be a secretary. So, what the hell.

In case you were wondering what spurred this decision... I was out with a friend and ran into one of my former students from UC. He asked me if I was still teaching, and I said no. And he basically lectured me for about 45 minutes that I needed to be teaching because I was the best teacher he ever had, etc. Then, a month later, I ran into one of my former students from NKU. We basically had the exact same conversation Jeff and I had. Both conversations made me cry like a baby. So I thought. And thought. And thought. I have to do it. I'm pissed about it, but you do what you have to do.

I made a couple other life changes. I resigned from the board of Give Back Cincinnati. It's a great group, but it's not on my list of priorities anymore... There are a lot of factors, but all that matters is that it wasn't fair to me or to GBC to keep going.

Lastly... I made a call the other night. You know, we all have those "first loves." That's who I called. Because I realized... I still love him. And I probably always will love him. In retrospect, I think that he is probably the only person I've ever met/dated/whatever that I would marry. It's a weird kind of unconditional love, because he's done some pretty stupid shit. But, from the day I met him in June 1996, I was in love. My mom even remembers me coming home and saying that I had met the man I was going to marry. Well, it's been almost 12 years. He's been married and divorced. He's got kids. He's done some stupid things. But, there is something about him that I will always love. And I told him that, because I thought... if someone felt that way about me, I would want to know. And I know him enough to know that he would want to know, too. Who knows what will come of that- maybe nothing. Something would be nice, but even if it's nothing, I know that neither of us will leave this world without knowing that. So- Jason, I love you. Always have, always will.

Random musings, I know... not very funny, or insightful. But when I go too long without writing, I get all these hostile messages... just kidding... sort of. I'm snowed in, and nothing really funny or insightful to say... just things that are true.

Why I'm a Darwinist

Two posts in one day... aren't you some lucky readers.

So with all this time sitting at my apartment alone being sick all week and stood up tonight, it gives me some time to reflect. When I was done with that, I read a Glamour magazine. There was an article written by some actor about plastic surgery and how he had tried to date women that had had it and he couldn't. You know, wondering what they are hiding or what else they don't like about themselves. Blah blah blah.

On to my next distraction- L.A. Ink on TLC. I like Miami Ink better, for the record- I think Kat Von D is as annoying as fuck. But I digress. This woman is getting a tattoo for her son. He's adopted and she was talking about her struggle to get pregnant and how she didn't understand why it was happening to her and that it was natural to have a baby. And I kind of thought... maybe it's not. Maybe it's not natural for every woman to be a baby-maker.

I thought then about boys (as I am wont to do)... I met aforementioned V-Day Stand Up Guy on the infamous internet. And I was wondering why I felt weird about meeting someone that way. And it occurred to me that all these things might be kind of related.

It's the artificial nature of it. The forced-ness. It's inorganic. The body you have, its capabilities, and the interactions of life- do you just let them happen, or do you, in the words of Tim Gunn, "make it work?" I'd rather just let it happen. Whether you believe in God or fate or none of the above, I just kind of think that there is something to be said for letting the world develop on its own. There's a big long quote by Max something or other- Ehrmann? Anyway... in the midst of the quote it says that whether it is apparent to you now, the universe IS unfolding as it should. And it resonated with me.

So, I guess all that organic loveliness, those flowery quotes and my rambling thoughts come down to one thing. Put down the Botox, adopt a needy child, and meet some guy at the grocery store, or however you want to do it, but live authentically.

Evolution- it's not just for monkeys anymore!

What NOT to wear

It's Valentine's Day, 2008. I got stood up. I have an amazing ability to get dumped/stood up/etc on holidays/birthdays.

I was relieved this past December when I was single- finally a birthday with no fear of getting dumped. I have been dumped three times within a week of my birthday- including once on my actual birthday. Last year, I was dumped exactly one week later. Happy holidays!

I suppose it's not a huge deal- we've only been on a few dates. But the thing that probably bothers me more than anything- there's a quote- maybe Oscar Wilde? Can't remember... but the gist is that the only thing worse than being talked about is NOT being talked about. Kind of like... I'd rather be hated, yelled at, whatever, than ignored. And being stood up is just that.

(Let's all assume right now that he's not in the hospital or dead- if he is, I'll give you an update).

Back to my point- I wrote a poem when I was in college (didn't we all? Ugh) about it being better that some guy I liked made fun of me than if he ignored me- because at least he's acknowledging my existence on the planet. Nothing is so detrimental to self-esteem than the complete disregard for your being.

No worries- I'm not bitter... not a knee-jerk reaction to getting stood up on the official Hallmark holiday (or is that Sweetest Day?). I still love men and will continue to do so. But, it doesn't do much for my reticence to put myself out there and display my heart on my sleeve. Not my style, and tonight, it seems like it was just the thing NOT to wear.