You know, April 26th has a lot of meaning.
John Wilkes Booth died, it's World Intellectual Property Day, the Geneva Conferences began and the first U.S. rocket landed on the moon.
Carol Burnett, I.M. Pei, Jessica Lynch, Jordana Brewster and I were all born, in different years of course. Tell me we aren't all important?
Wouldn't that be a FUNNY group of people in one room? I'd like to talk to each of these people at a reception over cocktail weenies.
Carol: Is it as much fun being funny as it looks? Cuz it looks like funny is old.
I.M.: Aren't you glad you are brilliant instead of a 12-year-old girl who would, like, TOTALLY giggle at your name?
Jess: What does that sort of amnesia taste like?
Jordana: Weren't you in some awful movies? No? Then who exactly ARE you?
But we're all Tauruses (Tauri?) and we are funny folk, us Taurus/es/i.
We are stubborn-ass bitches.
I would rather DIE than give in to ANYTHING. DIE. Because of this, I choose my arguments and statements carefully. Also for this, I sort of hate debating. HATE! Let's not philosophize or argue about something I can't change, because I'll have to unfortunately stick with that statement until it is buried with me, thanks.
Along with stubborn, we are patient. This, I think, goes hand-in-hand with stubbornness. Sometimes it's easier to wait for just the right time to proclaim how right you are about something than mess around with the wrong times for utter correctness and charm.
We are jealous-ass bitches.
In the equal amount of time I can sit without being antsy about how long it will take my hair to grow, when I'll be devastatingly toned, or when Jake Gyllenhaal will realize how cool I am, my blood can boil in five seconds about someone or something if it crosses me.
This is especially true of rivals of all sorts: people who are skinnier than me who are eating huge cheeseburgers, people who don't respect the fine social art of where lines in the sand are drawn, and people who have bulldogs of any variety.
Perhaps the flip-side of blood-boiling jealousy is blood-boiling of a different variety. We are sensual. It's true! I'm not just saying that to be like tooting my own sexy-horn or anything. We bullies enjoy good food. Good wine. Soft fabric. Backrubs. Exotic Flowers. Amazing views. Good smells. Oral hygiene.
Tauri are also reliable-ass bitches.
I may be perpetually 10 minutes late. But I will arrive when I say I will. I only break plans if I really need to and then I feel terrible when I do. If a friend is sad, I am all over that situation doing the monkey-with-cymbals distraction song and dance. I will help you move. I like helping! Look at me! I am so ready to help!
But reliability comes with inflexibility. If we are going out for sushi, don't all of a sudden go "hmmm... maybe we should have Indian food" because I will patiently choose to argue with you about the ridiculousness of what you are saying. I have internalized the sushi. Visualized the sushi. Dreamed about the smooth, cold fish, creamy heat of the wasabi and the vinegary rice. I taste the Kirin in my mouth, fool-- don't rob me of that!
Also, tell me I'm pretty. And bring on the quarter-life crisis.
Tauri are also NOTORIOUS birthday princesses.
(ok, ok birthday-princess-ass-bitches)
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Justin Timberlake is my personal trainer
Let Me Talk To You Prelude / My Love
Katastrophic thoughts plus Justin Timberlake =
6 minutes, 10 seconds
Place: Washington Sports Club
Calories burned in that time: roughly 80
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
(I'm tired of arguing girl)
Hey, hey, hey,
If my dad were around, he'd yell "Hay is for HORSES" already, JUSTIN.
(I'm tired of arguing girl)
Hey, hey, hey
Hey. I'm here, aren't I. FELLOWS. JT. Timbaland. I AM HERE TO BRING SEXY BACK, ETC. I AM HERE TO LOSE WEIGHT AND WORK HARD. See this? I am geared up to do AN HOUR OF CARDIO. TELL ME I AM PRETTY.
My love, uh huh, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
(That's me, thanks. I know.)
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
(Don't I F-ing wish. Tell me why you wear vests and why it makes it hard to breathe when I am sneak-reading Tiger-Beat in my cubicle).
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love
My love
I love the way you're standing
Lips look so sweet, like cotton candy (My love)
That don't mean you gotta stop dancing
'Cause the way that you move is so demanding (My love)
It's true. I'm a demanding lady. I like all eyes on me when I want them and no eyes on me when mine are daggers. DUH. I love dancing in people's living rooms. In bars where no one else is dancing, and in crowded places. I hate it when my parents are around, the music involves too many guitars (I never know what to do) or I am not drunk enough.
Let's put it on cruise control
Let me take you to the crib, let me ease your soul (My love)
I gonna take it really nice and slow
But first let me, let me, let me talk to her
Is this what nice boys do? Talk to her? Don't people fall in love on dance floors? What I would have given for a west-side story-minus-tragedy-affair? Right? Like I'm in a swirly dress, and we dance once, I in my swirly dress and he in a red shirt. NOW WE ARE IN LOVE. God-- isn't this EASY? Also, we are Puerto Rican? Please say so!
LOVE.
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
God-- this was the BEST concert. Even from the nosebleed seats I could tell how hot he is. Yes my Ani DiFranco, Beth Orton, Indie rock loving self LOVES THIS SHIT.
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
(My hips wiggle on the elliptical in time to the music. I can't help it. SO F-ing catchy!)
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love
My love
DUDE. Wicked cowbell. Is that what it's going to take for me to drop down to an easy size 6? Some Cowbell? God-- I AM SO WHITE.
Walk into my great place, cozy
I'm glad you came, let's make a toast (My love)
A toast. We've made toasts. Whole wheat. Sometimes with Jelly. Once or twice regarding anniversaries, birthdays and perhaps flag day.
Let me make an indecent proposal
Let me take you to the back and do what we're suppose to (My love)
Let's take a trip to the bayou
You can be the investigator, I'm your Private I (My love)
You know I want a piece of that pie
(mmmm......pie. I'm on a diet. I CRAVE PIE EVERY FIVE MINUTES. What do you tell a stomach that wants pie that it's getting an apple? Nothing. You pretend it's not speaking. No hablo ingles, tummy. Solo tengo ensalada.
But first let me, let me, let me talk to her
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
(oooh.... I smell the big tough guy transitioning into a total sap. God I LOVE TOTAL SAPS. SAP! SAP! SAP! Rings and puppies and picnics and SKINNINESS!)
(sigh. Not a pointed sigh either. Befuddled. Not there yet? I like chinese take-out and netflix. That's not SAP and that's not settling either. Where is it? Normal?)
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
Ain't no other woman that could take your spot my..
(swoon. Holy hell. Justin Timberlake wears suit-type items with non-suit-type flair. SWOON.)
If I wrote you a symphony
Just to say how much you mean to me (what would you do)
If I told you, you were beautiful
(Go on.... I'm listening.)
Would you date me on the regular (tell me would you?)
Um, YES. you are like, #2 on my "list of celebrities". That's for another entry. Mine is random.
Well baby, I've been around the world
But I ain't seen myself another girl (like you)
This ring here represents my heart
Who is getting married these days? WHO DO I KNOW WHO THINKS LIKE THIS. What IS romance these days? Saving money? Convenience? Lowered condo fees?
But there's just one thing I need from you (say I do)
Because, I can see us holding hands
Walking on the beach our toes in the sand
OMG CANNOT WAIT UNTIL I GO TO THE BEACH IN JULY. WAIT. (looks in mirror to the left of me on machine.) OH. RIGHT. That means other people have to see my ass in a swimsuit and still want to drink beer. That means not be nauseous. JUST YET.
I can see us on the country side
Sitting on the grass laying side by side
You can be my baby
Let me make you my lady
SERIOUSLY. MOVE. BURN CALORIES. WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, HAVING THAT BITE OF CHOCOLATE?
Girl you amaze me
Ain't gotta do nothing crazy
oohhh... Sorry. You can have that bite of chocolate. Aren't we trying NOT to be insane? one bite (of chocolate) is OK. 15 Hershey bars is not. A stranger's arm? Your desk? Worse.
See all I want you to do is be…
My love (so don't give away)
My love (so don't give away)
Who gives a millionaire's love away? my boyfriend makes $3,000 more than me and I am like "wooo hooo, jackpot boyfriend".
My love (so don't give away)
Ain't another woman that could take your spot my love
Does he understand my jealousy issues? Can JT SEE ME? RIGHT NOW?
My love
My love
My love
My love
Now if I wrote you a love note
When is the last time I got a love letter? I can't even tell you. Who can know? Who writes them anymore? Let's just say the last time someone signed an email "xoxo" perhaps? Can you send them from your black berry?
And made you smile at every word I wrote (what would you do?)
I sort of do that already. Is Gmail a love note? in the 21st Century, I vote YES.
Would that make you want to change your scene
((God I am so tired... Must keep going. Breathing is heavy. My back is wet. Catches glimpse of self in mirror. Making progress. Gulps. Sucks it up.)
And wanna be the one on my team (tell me would you?)
See, what's the point in waiting anymore
Everyone is waiting. While I am here, breathing in a creepy heavy way, I've seen about 4 wedding rings. NO ONE IS MARRIED. At least, NO MARRIED PEOPLE WORK OUT AT 10PM!
Cuz girl, I never been more sure (that baby, it's you)
This ring here represents my heart
And everything that you've been waiting for (just say it, I do)
Now, I, as a 24-year-old-turning 25 next week feel marketed to. Are you selling me your fidelity, JT? Are you selling me the package of a smoking hot 25-year-old who is TOTALLY down with commitment. Rings. Roses?
LIAR.
(Do you have a P.O. Box I could direct my fan fiction to?)
Because, I can see us holding hands
Walking on the beach our toes in the sand
ALSO, GET PEDICURE. HOLY BALLS.
(mental note)
I can see us on the country side
Sitting on the grass laying side by side
You can be my baby
I sort of hate that. Baby. Who calls people baby? I never really liked it. It's like, verbally squashing your adult-y independence and ability to buy alcoholic beverages. Baby. It's just so weird and like you are dating a doo-wop song.
Also why are there no songs about people with my name? NADA.
Let me make you my lady
Girl you amaze me
Ain't gotta do nothing crazy
I prefer to think of crazy in the Patsy Cline kinda way. My boyfriend's basset hound at home bays with Patsy Cline. Maybe she and I are more alike than we know?
See all I want you to do is be…
My love (so don't give away)
At a house party this past weekend, I drunkenly did the dance from the video.
stomp, stomp, draaaggggg in a circle. Like the video.
stomp, stomp, draggggg.
My love (so don't give away)
My love (so don't give away)
Ain't another woman that could take your spot my love
Why don't real people say this out loud ever?
My love
HOLY HELL. WHAT IS THAT SMELL? IS IT THE DUDE RUNNING IN FRONT OF ME?
((looks around))
Oh god. YES.
My love
Colloquially, English-speakers don't use this term as much as the Spanish-speaking world. It's too preshus for me to deal with in English. Too saccharine.
My love
stomp, stomp draaaag
My love
alright it’s time to get it JT
I don’t know what she hesitating for man
(Aye aye) Shorty, cool as a fan
On the new once again
(Baby) Still has fans from Peru to Japan
Listen baby, I don't wanna ruin your plan
But if you got a man, try to lose him if you can
WAIT-- NO. TI. WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? When I first heard of T.I. I thought he was T 1. You know, like, ONE. Like a LAN connection. Boy, was I sad when I realized I was wrong. My friend laughed at me for weeks.
Cause the girls real wild throw they hands up high
when they wanna come and kick it wit a stand up guy
I ALREADY DO. MINUS STINK-RUNNING-FRIEND in front of me.
you don't really wanna let the chance go by
Cause you ain't been seen wit a man so fly
(baby) France so fly I can go fly
Private, cause I handle my B-I
I can handle that. (I think. What is that?) B.O. is another subject. YIKES. Running Friend! What is going ON?
They call me candle guy, simply because I am on fire
I hate to have to cancel my vacation so you can't deny
I'm patient, but I ain't gonna try
Ouch. Rings truer than normal. Yes, patience is a virtue. Don't you notice my held tongue? TRYING.
You don't come, I ain't gonna die
OH.
Maybe it's good I'm NOT dating JT. If he doesn't care about that sort of thing.
Hold up, what you mean, you can't go why?
Me and you boyfriend we ain't no tie
You say you wanna kick it, when i ain't so high
Well baby,its obvious that I ain't your guy
I ain't goin lie, I feel your space
But forget your face, I swear I will
What about glorious Brigantine, NJ? i'll totes be kicking it there in July. That's why I'm here for an HOUR OF CARDIO. To impress all of Central Jersey and Philadelphia on vacation that I am hotter than your average girl on the Atlantic City Boardwalk. Shouldn't it be NOT HARD?
St.Barth's, Anguilla, anywhere I chill
Just bring wit me a pair, I will
I can see us holding hands
Walking on the beach our toes in the sand
I can see us on the country side
Sitting on the grass laying side by side
Why don't I drink wine outside more? I totally should. Note to self: buy nice plastic cups.
You can be my baby
Let me make you my lady
Girl you amaze me
Ain't gotta do nothin crazy
See all I want you to do is be…
My love (love)
stomp, stomp draaaaggg
why didn't I become a back-up dancer?
My love (love)
My love (love)
Ain't another woman that could take your spot my love
My love
My love
My love
stomp, stomp drag
stomp, stomp drag.
My love
(phew. ONLY 13 more minutes!)
(OH GOD. UNTIL I'M DONE WITH THIS SET!)
Katastrophic thoughts plus Justin Timberlake =
6 minutes, 10 seconds
Place: Washington Sports Club
Calories burned in that time: roughly 80
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
(I'm tired of arguing girl)
Hey, hey, hey,
If my dad were around, he'd yell "Hay is for HORSES" already, JUSTIN.
(I'm tired of arguing girl)
Hey, hey, hey
Hey. I'm here, aren't I. FELLOWS. JT. Timbaland. I AM HERE TO BRING SEXY BACK, ETC. I AM HERE TO LOSE WEIGHT AND WORK HARD. See this? I am geared up to do AN HOUR OF CARDIO. TELL ME I AM PRETTY.
My love, uh huh, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
(That's me, thanks. I know.)
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
(Don't I F-ing wish. Tell me why you wear vests and why it makes it hard to breathe when I am sneak-reading Tiger-Beat in my cubicle).
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love
My love
I love the way you're standing
Lips look so sweet, like cotton candy (My love)
That don't mean you gotta stop dancing
'Cause the way that you move is so demanding (My love)
It's true. I'm a demanding lady. I like all eyes on me when I want them and no eyes on me when mine are daggers. DUH. I love dancing in people's living rooms. In bars where no one else is dancing, and in crowded places. I hate it when my parents are around, the music involves too many guitars (I never know what to do) or I am not drunk enough.
Let's put it on cruise control
Let me take you to the crib, let me ease your soul (My love)
I gonna take it really nice and slow
But first let me, let me, let me talk to her
Is this what nice boys do? Talk to her? Don't people fall in love on dance floors? What I would have given for a west-side story-minus-tragedy-affair? Right? Like I'm in a swirly dress, and we dance once, I in my swirly dress and he in a red shirt. NOW WE ARE IN LOVE. God-- isn't this EASY? Also, we are Puerto Rican? Please say so!
LOVE.
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
God-- this was the BEST concert. Even from the nosebleed seats I could tell how hot he is. Yes my Ani DiFranco, Beth Orton, Indie rock loving self LOVES THIS SHIT.
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
(My hips wiggle on the elliptical in time to the music. I can't help it. SO F-ing catchy!)
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love
My love
DUDE. Wicked cowbell. Is that what it's going to take for me to drop down to an easy size 6? Some Cowbell? God-- I AM SO WHITE.
Walk into my great place, cozy
I'm glad you came, let's make a toast (My love)
A toast. We've made toasts. Whole wheat. Sometimes with Jelly. Once or twice regarding anniversaries, birthdays and perhaps flag day.
Let me make an indecent proposal
Let me take you to the back and do what we're suppose to (My love)
Let's take a trip to the bayou
You can be the investigator, I'm your Private I (My love)
You know I want a piece of that pie
(mmmm......pie. I'm on a diet. I CRAVE PIE EVERY FIVE MINUTES. What do you tell a stomach that wants pie that it's getting an apple? Nothing. You pretend it's not speaking. No hablo ingles, tummy. Solo tengo ensalada.
But first let me, let me, let me talk to her
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
(oooh.... I smell the big tough guy transitioning into a total sap. God I LOVE TOTAL SAPS. SAP! SAP! SAP! Rings and puppies and picnics and SKINNINESS!)
(sigh. Not a pointed sigh either. Befuddled. Not there yet? I like chinese take-out and netflix. That's not SAP and that's not settling either. Where is it? Normal?)
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
My love, hey, my love, hey
Ain't no other woman that could take your spot my..
(swoon. Holy hell. Justin Timberlake wears suit-type items with non-suit-type flair. SWOON.)
If I wrote you a symphony
Just to say how much you mean to me (what would you do)
If I told you, you were beautiful
(Go on.... I'm listening.)
Would you date me on the regular (tell me would you?)
Um, YES. you are like, #2 on my "list of celebrities". That's for another entry. Mine is random.
Well baby, I've been around the world
But I ain't seen myself another girl (like you)
This ring here represents my heart
Who is getting married these days? WHO DO I KNOW WHO THINKS LIKE THIS. What IS romance these days? Saving money? Convenience? Lowered condo fees?
But there's just one thing I need from you (say I do)
Because, I can see us holding hands
Walking on the beach our toes in the sand
OMG CANNOT WAIT UNTIL I GO TO THE BEACH IN JULY. WAIT. (looks in mirror to the left of me on machine.) OH. RIGHT. That means other people have to see my ass in a swimsuit and still want to drink beer. That means not be nauseous. JUST YET.
I can see us on the country side
Sitting on the grass laying side by side
You can be my baby
Let me make you my lady
SERIOUSLY. MOVE. BURN CALORIES. WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, HAVING THAT BITE OF CHOCOLATE?
Girl you amaze me
Ain't gotta do nothing crazy
oohhh... Sorry. You can have that bite of chocolate. Aren't we trying NOT to be insane? one bite (of chocolate) is OK. 15 Hershey bars is not. A stranger's arm? Your desk? Worse.
See all I want you to do is be…
My love (so don't give away)
My love (so don't give away)
Who gives a millionaire's love away? my boyfriend makes $3,000 more than me and I am like "wooo hooo, jackpot boyfriend".
My love (so don't give away)
Ain't another woman that could take your spot my love
Does he understand my jealousy issues? Can JT SEE ME? RIGHT NOW?
My love
My love
My love
My love
Now if I wrote you a love note
When is the last time I got a love letter? I can't even tell you. Who can know? Who writes them anymore? Let's just say the last time someone signed an email "xoxo" perhaps? Can you send them from your black berry?
And made you smile at every word I wrote (what would you do?)
I sort of do that already. Is Gmail a love note? in the 21st Century, I vote YES.
Would that make you want to change your scene
((God I am so tired... Must keep going. Breathing is heavy. My back is wet. Catches glimpse of self in mirror. Making progress. Gulps. Sucks it up.)
And wanna be the one on my team (tell me would you?)
See, what's the point in waiting anymore
Everyone is waiting. While I am here, breathing in a creepy heavy way, I've seen about 4 wedding rings. NO ONE IS MARRIED. At least, NO MARRIED PEOPLE WORK OUT AT 10PM!
Cuz girl, I never been more sure (that baby, it's you)
This ring here represents my heart
And everything that you've been waiting for (just say it, I do)
Now, I, as a 24-year-old-turning 25 next week feel marketed to. Are you selling me your fidelity, JT? Are you selling me the package of a smoking hot 25-year-old who is TOTALLY down with commitment. Rings. Roses?
LIAR.
(Do you have a P.O. Box I could direct my fan fiction to?)
Because, I can see us holding hands
Walking on the beach our toes in the sand
ALSO, GET PEDICURE. HOLY BALLS.
(mental note)
I can see us on the country side
Sitting on the grass laying side by side
You can be my baby
I sort of hate that. Baby. Who calls people baby? I never really liked it. It's like, verbally squashing your adult-y independence and ability to buy alcoholic beverages. Baby. It's just so weird and like you are dating a doo-wop song.
Also why are there no songs about people with my name? NADA.
Let me make you my lady
Girl you amaze me
Ain't gotta do nothing crazy
I prefer to think of crazy in the Patsy Cline kinda way. My boyfriend's basset hound at home bays with Patsy Cline. Maybe she and I are more alike than we know?
See all I want you to do is be…
My love (so don't give away)
At a house party this past weekend, I drunkenly did the dance from the video.
stomp, stomp, draaaggggg in a circle. Like the video.
stomp, stomp, draggggg.
My love (so don't give away)
My love (so don't give away)
Ain't another woman that could take your spot my love
Why don't real people say this out loud ever?
My love
HOLY HELL. WHAT IS THAT SMELL? IS IT THE DUDE RUNNING IN FRONT OF ME?
((looks around))
Oh god. YES.
My love
Colloquially, English-speakers don't use this term as much as the Spanish-speaking world. It's too preshus for me to deal with in English. Too saccharine.
My love
stomp, stomp draaaag
My love
alright it’s time to get it JT
I don’t know what she hesitating for man
(Aye aye) Shorty, cool as a fan
On the new once again
(Baby) Still has fans from Peru to Japan
Listen baby, I don't wanna ruin your plan
But if you got a man, try to lose him if you can
WAIT-- NO. TI. WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? When I first heard of T.I. I thought he was T 1. You know, like, ONE. Like a LAN connection. Boy, was I sad when I realized I was wrong. My friend laughed at me for weeks.
Cause the girls real wild throw they hands up high
when they wanna come and kick it wit a stand up guy
I ALREADY DO. MINUS STINK-RUNNING-FRIEND in front of me.
you don't really wanna let the chance go by
Cause you ain't been seen wit a man so fly
(baby) France so fly I can go fly
Private, cause I handle my B-I
I can handle that. (I think. What is that?) B.O. is another subject. YIKES. Running Friend! What is going ON?
They call me candle guy, simply because I am on fire
I hate to have to cancel my vacation so you can't deny
I'm patient, but I ain't gonna try
Ouch. Rings truer than normal. Yes, patience is a virtue. Don't you notice my held tongue? TRYING.
You don't come, I ain't gonna die
OH.
Maybe it's good I'm NOT dating JT. If he doesn't care about that sort of thing.
Hold up, what you mean, you can't go why?
Me and you boyfriend we ain't no tie
You say you wanna kick it, when i ain't so high
Well baby,its obvious that I ain't your guy
I ain't goin lie, I feel your space
But forget your face, I swear I will
What about glorious Brigantine, NJ? i'll totes be kicking it there in July. That's why I'm here for an HOUR OF CARDIO. To impress all of Central Jersey and Philadelphia on vacation that I am hotter than your average girl on the Atlantic City Boardwalk. Shouldn't it be NOT HARD?
St.Barth's, Anguilla, anywhere I chill
Just bring wit me a pair, I will
I can see us holding hands
Walking on the beach our toes in the sand
I can see us on the country side
Sitting on the grass laying side by side
Why don't I drink wine outside more? I totally should. Note to self: buy nice plastic cups.
You can be my baby
Let me make you my lady
Girl you amaze me
Ain't gotta do nothin crazy
See all I want you to do is be…
My love (love)
stomp, stomp draaaaggg
why didn't I become a back-up dancer?
My love (love)
My love (love)
Ain't another woman that could take your spot my love
My love
My love
My love
stomp, stomp drag
stomp, stomp drag.
My love
(phew. ONLY 13 more minutes!)
(OH GOD. UNTIL I'M DONE WITH THIS SET!)
Monday, April 16, 2007
Otherwise entitled "yes, I admit to watching Country Music Television, and it maybe changed my life".
Sunday night sleep is never what you want it to be. You go to bed early in hopes of cashing sleep in or to bed late hoping you can write a check for it later.
In an effort to numb my brain screaming all sorts of Sunday-type worries both old and new, I drowned out the crazy with something even more horrendous: Country Music Television.
...I can explain.
I had gone to Florida Avenue Grill with my friend who had some very exciting news to tell me. She's going to save the world some day, one kid at a time, this friend of mine. She's recently changed her behavior to properly reflect what sort of good she'll do one day, so instead of drowning our dreary Sunday in margaritas, we drowned them in grits.
So, I was battling some serious food coma. I was bacon-induced sludge. I turned on the TV and saw "coyote ugly".
I thought: this is GREAT! This is just what I need, an awesome-terrible movie to keep me company while I food sweat-nap the biscuit out of me.
Except my napping plan was derailed by a SHOW about these gals. A REALITY SHOW.
I'm not exactly their demographic, considering the fact that I have to snort whenever women are consistently referred to as "girls" even though they are well into their child-bearing years. As far as I can tell, "boys" are "guys" the moment they hit 5th grade. You couldn't find a show on Comcast's cable line-up that centered on good looking "boys" handling liquids. You have to pay extra for that shit on Pay-Per-View, and then everyone is actually over 18 and takes monthly tests.
But the premise of the show is hilarious. They were looking for "bartenders" with a talent. It was Miss America for people with a platform of "wooooo!" or "yeeeahhhhh" and they were spokes-girls for their individual boob job funds.
So I spent all lazy afternoon dozing with half an eyelid propped up to watch this glorious train wreck.
Then I cleaned my apartment and winded down my Sunday night as most do: with a Tylenol PM (half a dose) and something to bore me asleep.
Which is right now, since I have two deleted posts and a few lives to stop ruining is: Why Can't you SHUT UP? How We Ruin Relationships-- How Not To by Dr. Anthony E. Wolf. I'm not saying it's not helping, but wallowing in your own shortcomings is not exactly the best way to end up not staring at the ceiling on an idle Sunday night with the 5am news broadcast looming in the near future.
For all my uppity "ew that's so gross" re: the bar booty-shaking that I watched these long-haired, long-legged ladies do, there was something that separated us.
I was awake despite some Tylenol PM, nursing a fragile manic-depressive ego re-adjusted by a life lesson learned that I can't say I'm entirely done processing or feel like anything outside of my own thoughts is going to change; except for the fact that it's no longer a topic of conversation. The green of jealousy is not an attractive color on me and I refuse to say anything about the subject again.
These "girls" were out there on TV embarrassing the hell out of themselves because they thought they could "make it". And perhaps "it" consisting of sharing prize money and getting a cushy bartending job is just about all they wanted. That would make them happy. They knew somewhere in their brains that this show was going to do something for them, whether get them somewhere new or stroke their egos. They liked dancing on bars and fiddling or singing or re-adjusting their bra straps-- whatever their talent may be.
And then there's me. So far in my own head that I can't realize how far in I am that I've become one with my eardrums. There always has to be drama. There always has to be dread. It's like I can't live without a pit in my stomach and making sure someone else know about said pit. Only when I'm drunk and dancing on the living room floor of a house party do I not give two shits about what's going on around me. Or knitting on the subway. Or strutting around the city with my ipod pulling my spine up straight.
I don't walk like that all the time.
Perhaps it's high time I should.
So I am going to try and be more like these ladies on the CMT. I think I need to hit the gym with greater vigor before those short-shorts can enter into the discussion (oh and like my yuppie ennui would even dare let me wear jean shorts). But I think I'm going to try and do something new.
Not worry. Not stress. Not internalize until I can't keep it in me anymore and then spew it out in a force of two years worth of why-did-you-do-this and why-didn't-you-do-that's of fears with no actual basis in reality, but based in the past. In the distant past.
I think trying to relax is going to be the hardest thing I have ever done.
I suppose a nap on an idle Sunday was an OK start.
In an effort to numb my brain screaming all sorts of Sunday-type worries both old and new, I drowned out the crazy with something even more horrendous: Country Music Television.
...I can explain.
I had gone to Florida Avenue Grill with my friend who had some very exciting news to tell me. She's going to save the world some day, one kid at a time, this friend of mine. She's recently changed her behavior to properly reflect what sort of good she'll do one day, so instead of drowning our dreary Sunday in margaritas, we drowned them in grits.
So, I was battling some serious food coma. I was bacon-induced sludge. I turned on the TV and saw "coyote ugly".
I thought: this is GREAT! This is just what I need, an awesome-terrible movie to keep me company while I food sweat-nap the biscuit out of me.
Except my napping plan was derailed by a SHOW about these gals. A REALITY SHOW.
I'm not exactly their demographic, considering the fact that I have to snort whenever women are consistently referred to as "girls" even though they are well into their child-bearing years. As far as I can tell, "boys" are "guys" the moment they hit 5th grade. You couldn't find a show on Comcast's cable line-up that centered on good looking "boys" handling liquids. You have to pay extra for that shit on Pay-Per-View, and then everyone is actually over 18 and takes monthly tests.
But the premise of the show is hilarious. They were looking for "bartenders" with a talent. It was Miss America for people with a platform of "wooooo!" or "yeeeahhhhh" and they were spokes-girls for their individual boob job funds.
So I spent all lazy afternoon dozing with half an eyelid propped up to watch this glorious train wreck.
Then I cleaned my apartment and winded down my Sunday night as most do: with a Tylenol PM (half a dose) and something to bore me asleep.
Which is right now, since I have two deleted posts and a few lives to stop ruining is: Why Can't you SHUT UP? How We Ruin Relationships-- How Not To by Dr. Anthony E. Wolf. I'm not saying it's not helping, but wallowing in your own shortcomings is not exactly the best way to end up not staring at the ceiling on an idle Sunday night with the 5am news broadcast looming in the near future.
For all my uppity "ew that's so gross" re: the bar booty-shaking that I watched these long-haired, long-legged ladies do, there was something that separated us.
I was awake despite some Tylenol PM, nursing a fragile manic-depressive ego re-adjusted by a life lesson learned that I can't say I'm entirely done processing or feel like anything outside of my own thoughts is going to change; except for the fact that it's no longer a topic of conversation. The green of jealousy is not an attractive color on me and I refuse to say anything about the subject again.
These "girls" were out there on TV embarrassing the hell out of themselves because they thought they could "make it". And perhaps "it" consisting of sharing prize money and getting a cushy bartending job is just about all they wanted. That would make them happy. They knew somewhere in their brains that this show was going to do something for them, whether get them somewhere new or stroke their egos. They liked dancing on bars and fiddling or singing or re-adjusting their bra straps-- whatever their talent may be.
And then there's me. So far in my own head that I can't realize how far in I am that I've become one with my eardrums. There always has to be drama. There always has to be dread. It's like I can't live without a pit in my stomach and making sure someone else know about said pit. Only when I'm drunk and dancing on the living room floor of a house party do I not give two shits about what's going on around me. Or knitting on the subway. Or strutting around the city with my ipod pulling my spine up straight.
I don't walk like that all the time.
Perhaps it's high time I should.
So I am going to try and be more like these ladies on the CMT. I think I need to hit the gym with greater vigor before those short-shorts can enter into the discussion (oh and like my yuppie ennui would even dare let me wear jean shorts). But I think I'm going to try and do something new.
Not worry. Not stress. Not internalize until I can't keep it in me anymore and then spew it out in a force of two years worth of why-did-you-do-this and why-didn't-you-do-that's of fears with no actual basis in reality, but based in the past. In the distant past.
I think trying to relax is going to be the hardest thing I have ever done.
I suppose a nap on an idle Sunday was an OK start.
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