short and sweet

When it's time to work, work hard.When it's time to play, play hard. Remain mindful of this, and you'll go further in life than most people.

I'm writing that more for me than anyone else. But it's definitely universal. Gotta remember that fun ain't free, and progress ain't easy.

How did we feel about the usage of color up yonder? Green for spring? No? No one cares. Also I saw Topanga from Boy Meets World (who isn't famous enough
for me to know her real name) while lunching at Luna Park today, and by default this makes my day awesome.

That's all. Was it good for you? I feel you had to fake it as to not hurt my feelings. So here's an added bonus we can all relate to:

hat tip: bam!

OK now that's all.



dessert in sheep's clothing

Three days. Three days until I pack up my little bottle of Motrin and my special oatmeal bowl before clearing my web browser so the new girl doesn't see that my three most visited sites are Facebook, CNN, and Wikipedia.


Today when I walked to the store for lunch, I bought a small salad, veggie enchiladas, and an apple. I love apples, but really I only bought it in a half-ass attempt to convince myself it would be a suitable substitute for dessert.

Someone I represent once told me that when she really cut loose, her ultimate naughty treat was an avocado. I told her she really lived on the edge.

I went so far as to hold a chocolate bar in my hand before remembering that swimsuit season favors those who don't resemble sausage in a casing. So back to the shelf it went, and I just had my apple, and fuck that. It tasted like an apple and nothing like a dark chocolate.

But really it's not the apple's fault.

All I'm saying? If you want candy, get candy. But don't take it out on the apple when you end up feeling let down. It never promised to be anything different; you just hoped it would be.

Something to be cognizant of, lunchtime and all the time.

Keep It Reasonable, Friends -



old mother hubbard

I haven't played this game in a while. Here is what my refrigerator currently holds:

- pre-packaged cheese slices, expiration unknown
- half a jar of jalapenos
- open bottle of Yellow Tail chardonnay
- raspberry jam
- chicken stock

I'm currently sans-pants (by choice) and even more sans-money (not by choice), so walking to the store is 100% out of the question. I keep staring at the cupboards longingly, hoping that the magical Food Fairies will remember that I'm more or less a good person and make something appear as an offering of goodwill. No luck yet. Just cockroaches. No Food Fairies.

I shouldn't even admit this, but I just counted my quarters I keep for laundry to see if I had enough to get Domino's delivered.

That's all I have. Feel better about your life? I hope so. But if this describes your Sunday nights as well, just come on over, we can be fail-friends. Bring snacks.



trash and treasure

I started packing up my room last night. It started as packing for my weekend adventure, but that lasted for about three items, and then I got sucked into that oddly addicting zone that one enters when sifting through memories of the past.

via here, here, here, here, here, aaaaaaand here

I like that photo, but I guess it's kind of deceiving. I don't mean to suggest that I spent all evening wearing my sad-pants. On the contrary, I quite enjoyed the walk down memory lane. But since I try (as much as possible) to live in the present, acknowledging the past is kind of like jumping in the ocean; even though it's fun, it can still be jarring.

I found my old fraternity paddles, which made me miss chapter meeting on Sundays; I found old cards from family and friends, which made me miss those I see on rare occasions ; and I found my dildo in a Crown Royal bag, which made me miss dorm room sex. A lot.

Moving is weird like that. It's not just the physical act of transporting your belongings. It's seeing what you hold on to and what you've finally made peace with letting go, and of course that reaches far beyond what you can place in a box . This will be my tenth move in seven years, so I have to remember that even though there's always trepidation when the sorting begins, I'm still alive and still happy and in possession of incredible riches regardless of cash value.

Of course, now I'm still not packed for this weekend. Eff. But I'm off in an hour, spending the afternoon cruising through my old friend The Central Valley, then spending three days in Napa and San Francisco. With trusty camera in hand, I hope to make more memories worthy of a spot on the shelf, an ever-present reminder of how damn fortunate I really am.

Happy Thursday friends. May your bracket picks prove wise.



with friends like these

....well, you know the rest.

And that right there....that's friendship in my world. Blatant mockery wrapped in a hug.

Happy so-close-to-weekend-you-can-taste-it.



dancing with myself

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

Mississippi school sued for canceling prom over lesbian student - CNN

OK, I don't do a ton of social commentary on el bloggo. I'm very neutral on the issue of bloggers hauling out their soapboxes. Sure, news is an ever-renewing bag of topics, and having an email address and a keyboard in 2010 allows you to preach far and wide on whatever the hell jiggles your bits at that moment. That being said, I am a firm believer that those who feel compelled to comment on every last sociopolitical issue, regardless of their knowledge on the topic, are generally insufferable and high on my list of individuals I'd sterilize if given the chance. Notice how I never say much about the military or the economy? That's because I don't know dick about either. See how easy that is?

Just saying, I don't feel I've yet abused my right to comment now and then. But being quaintly queer and having attended high school, today's post is dedicated to states full of backwater bigots and those who love them.

You can read the whole story here, but long story short a lesbian student wanted to wear a tux and bring her girlfriend to prom.

Let's stop right there. She did not ask to bring a greased hog and a strap-on in a little cummerbund. Just her girlfriend. Also, she wanted to wear a tux. Apparently in Mississippi this is the equivalent of wearing someone's pussy as a mask on the dance floor and then forcing everyone into communal devil worship while you burn the place down, because the school district put the kibbosh on that shit faster than you can say First Amendment.

A regular laugh riot, no? But wait, there's more! Here's the Board of Education's statement:

The decision was made "taking into consideration the education, safety and well-being of our students."

So in this instance, "education" must mean "keeping them sheltered from anything remotely like real life", "safety" must mean "if the dykes show up, bet your sweet ass someone will assault them", and well-being clearly equates to "they can't breathe our air or we'll catch it too."

Yet another reason not to fight states when they threaten to leave. You know what, Mississippi, we re-thought the whole secession thing. Take Utah with you, then you both can go hang out with Uganda and have a big ol' hate-party. Genital mutilations, then punch and pie.

Aaaaaaaaaaaand deep breath. The sarcasm train has come to a full and complete stop.

This is real life. No joke. Twenty-ten, we're living in the fucking future, and people are still being told what to wear and who to love if they expect to be left alone.

This. Shit. Still. Happens.

Treat other people the way you want to be treated, folks. Just because someone may hear different music doesn't mean they don't deserve to dance.



funds not available

Today has been full of dirty words. Not fun-dirty, like cooter or jizz. Words like "expectations," "prioritizing," and the dreaded queen mother of them all...."overdraft protection."

As you can gather, I've had better Mondays.

However, this weekend had some high points that make the days when life takes a dump on your chest decidedly more tolerable. For one, a younger brother from another mother camped out Friday night to audition for Last Comic Standing, so along with El Dondo I went to pay him a visit. And what moved me was that he knew it would mean taking a train to LA, walking across Hollywood, spending a whole day amongst painfully un-funny wannabes, sleeping in the rain, and ultimately standing alone on stage, showing strangers two minutes of what he holds dear to his heart, knowing deep down it would probably end with a quick dismissal. And he did it anyway. I won't even sit at home and submit my writing to unseen editors for fear of rejection. The kid has stones.

And I like knowing there's that sort of courage in the world.

After that El Dondo and I took our show on the road, cruising the Sunset Strip, winding through Beverly Hills and Pacific Palisades, down to PCH to greet the ocean, then back up the freeway through downtown. It was beautiful and calming and sometimes we chatted but mostly we listened, because the world around us had plenty to say. It was pointlessly important and worth every minute.

And I like knowing there's that sort of peace in the world.

And on Saturday night I drank too much...first time, of course. As I was in no shape to operate a toothbrush, let alone a car, Hinger took me to a combo burrito shop and donut store, open twenty-four hours for your convenience. And I don't know what exactly set me off, but he made me laugh....and it went downhill from there. I laughed until I had tears streaming down my face. Until I fell off the yellow plastic stool. Until everyone that frequents such an establishment at 2am set down their snacks and just stared at the gasping, squealing freakshow and the 6'7" man-ginger calmly munching a burrito next to him. I can't attribute exactly why, but I do know I haven't been that uncontrollably gleeful in ages.

And I like knowing there's that sort of happiness in the world.

I'm so broke my bank accounts have taken me out of the equation and just started bailing each other out. That's fine. On any given day I might be cowardly, or agitated, or sad, or all three. But the good stuff, it's still out there. Just gotta remember where to find it.

Namaste, bitches. Don't let the man get you down.



the all-knowing box spring

This is all I have to say:

hat tip here and here

I almost disobeyed the mattress. Almost. But it's Friday and we're alive...so fuck it. Let's go make a mess.

Happy weekend -



things my friends say, vol. 11

Today's nugget, courtesy of:

"SPEAKING of the dark continent...."

Oh, and don't think before that we were talking about Africa. No, no....we were talking about the black man sitting next to us.

This took me back to my grandma telling the story of when her sister dropped her (n-word only rappers can say) baby doll down the one-holer back on the farm. True story. Ask Grandma. She'll tell you without batting an eye.

And if your family isn't from the Midwest, a one-holer is an outhouse.

See, you learned something today. Never say I don't enrich your life. Knowledge is power!



muddy buddies

Saturday at 8am I bought handcuffs and condoms at the grocery store. Both were on sale.

They were part of my sloshball uniform. I was a proud member of team One Night Stand, not to be confused with the competition, team Hair Bands. Sloshball is kickball, like in grade school, but with a keg at second base, not like grade school. At least not my grade school. We only made it six innings before what little decorum we initially displayed washed away. I peed in public. More than once. We stood united somewhere near the imaginary pitcher's mound in the pouring rain and belted out the Star Spangled Banner, because the universe and Coors Light compelled us to do so. I did my first keg stand and mud wrestled people I just met. It rained more, people puked in the outfield, and once the keg was empty we went all walked home for pizza and naps.

"All God does is watch us and kill us when we get boring. We must never, ever, be boring."
-Chuck Palahniuk

My life may be a lot of things, but thankfully it's not boring.

Oh, and remember how it's March? Yeah, that happened.