presented without comment

Read and learn.

Okay, one comment. She does have a provocatively-titled single to promote, so take it with a grain of salt. Also? Matt Kemp will probably suck less this year when he's not being all, y'know, distracted n' shit. See? It all comes back to baseball, bitches.

xoxo

baseball season begins today, bitches!

I know you've been looking forward to me resuming the whining and ranting continuously about baseball, real and fantasy, for months now. Admit it. It's like the first sign of spring. Screw the robins and crocuses!

Today there shall be no whining or ranting, however. I'd just like y'all to read what Yahoo Sports has to say about my boy Felix Hernandez: RHP Felix Hernandez's final spring start Sunday before pitching the opener Friday in Oakland came against minor-leaguers, and he was so dominant that he had to ask to have a runner assigned to first base in the seventh inning for a couple of extra outs just so he could get a chance to work with men on base. C Miguel Olivo said Hernandez was all but unhittable.

Okay, he's still pitching for goddamn Seattle, so we'll probably have to set up the suicide watch again, but you have to admit that's hilarious. And good for my team.

In other, non-whiny baseball news, every single sportswriter I've read recently seems to think the Red Sox have the AL sewed up. Of course, these are the same people who last year at this time were saying "best pitching staff in baseball" and we all know how that turned out. Fuckin' Lackey. (Oops, that's whining. But I am still so very very bitter. So bitter.) Also, the fact that Mr Indemnity and I have that Sox Pack means they're probably gonna lose four extra games this year than they would have otherwise. No good ever comes of me stepping foot into Fenway. Particularly wearing that jersey of my son's, which is obviously a horrible bad luck garment. I'ma have to buy myself something else to wear to the games.

That's all for now.

xoxo

oh, oh, oh

I can't believe I forgot to tell you the best part of the Macys experience! While I was in my dressing room trying on that awesome dress, there was a young Indian woman trying on dresses in the next cubicle. She was shopping with an older woman whom I will just assume was her mother, and they had apparently narrowed down the selection to two options whose fine points they were deliberating. The girl said, about one of them, "It's just so stretchy and comfortable. This is going to sound horrible but--I wouldn't mind it for PAP smears."

Okay, boys and girls, if you don't think I wanted to yell over the partition "Giving or getting? Because they usually make me wear that paper thingy," then you haven't been paying attention. I mean obviously she's an OB GYN resident looking for work clothes, but that had to be one of the best overheard non sequiturs of all time. And you know I keep my ears open.

Does one want comfy clothing when one is staring at vadge all day? Apparently so!

xoxo

pennywise...

Wasn't that the clown from It? Or have I had an aneurysm combined with a near-fatal case of Too Lazy to Google It Syndrome? No matter. I am hear to talk neither about clowns, which are horrifying on their own, nor the collected works of Mr Steven King. What I am here to discuss was going to be a mere blog comment, but I decided it merited a whole post. (Yeah, yeah, I know. Now you're yelling "aneurysm!" at your computers. Too bad, I can't hear you.) Aneurysm *is* a Nirvana song, and I didn't even have to look that up. It's the one containing the immortal lyric "love you so much it makes me sick...", which, we've all been there, right? No? Just me? Okay, then.

Anyway, for mocking me, y'all are getting a video.

I wouldn't watch that if you have primary generalized epilepsy with photosensitivity. There's a lot of strobing going on. No falling to the ground and twitching on my watch.

Now, onto the point of this post. (I'm sure going off on ridiculous tangents is a sign of neurological damage, too. I mean, it can't be healthy.) Ahem. Where was I? Oh, yeah. In comments yesterday, Ms Crispix totally was playing devil-on-the-shoulder and encouraging me to buy shoes if it will perk me up. Specifically those espadrilles or the floral boots WHICH ARE ON SALE. Sorry, got all capslocky there. Anyway, I am here to tell you that yesterday I found something that possibly would have gotten me out of my funk even more efficiently.

Here's the deal. I was going to meet up with Mr Indemnity to go eat barbecue and see Paul (big Simon Pegg fans, we are) but when I texted him to see what time he could blow off work, he said not till 5:30 at the earliest. So I had some time to kill before hopping on the Red Line. I used this time very productively by going to Macys. Shut up. Wherein I tried on this dress and I am not lying to you when I tell you it looked better on me than it does on that model. Of course, I wasn't standing in front of the dressing room mirror making that douchey pose either, but trust. It fit me perfectly and it looked so cute. It also--which you will know if you actually clicked my link, slackers--cost $79.

Since I did not feel as if I had $79 to waste on an awesomely cute maxi dress suitable for sitting at a sidewalk table sipping drinks some evening in July, I reluctantly returned it to its little hanger, left Macys, liberated Mr Indemnity from his "work", and went on to spend $40 on barbecue and margaritas, $8 on the movie, $4 on coffee, plus, y'know, commuter rail and Red Line fare. My little evening out cost approximately 3/4ths of that awesomely cute dress. What is wrong with this picture?

Obviously the answer is that if I were any kind of a real woman, I would find me a man who wanted to take me on dates, and thus I would be able to both drink margaritas and afford to wear cute clothes whilst doing so! God, I suck. The aneurysm must be obscuring my sex appeal. Either that, or it's the bitch face I have on at the gym. (You people don't need an irony alert, do you? We good? Excellent.)

xoxo

fashion news

Here are some shoes I like. For different occasions, obviously.

In other fashion news, I tried on my vintage dress that I was feeling really sad would not fit me this year, considering it fit absolutely perfectly ten pounds ago. Well, it is a little looser at the top then it really should be, but I think I can probably make it work. I'm sure you'll all sleep easier tonight, knowing that.

You see? Told you I was in a funk. Didn't do one damn useful thing tonight either. I ought to just go to bed before I actually buy shoes.

xoxo

once again,

full service blog.

Oh, sorry, had to delete it. It messed up my formatting.

I was gonna show you a world map of breasts. You'll just have to go the extra step and click on the link.


xoxo

i suppose i should write something, huh, kids?

In kind of a funk. This cold weather doesn't help. I'm back in that down jacket I swore not to wear.

I took a three and a half hour nap after the gym yesterday due to having been up since 4:45am for no apparent reason. Then I watched a bunch of Doctor Who episodes on netflix instant watch, followed by starting an interweb kerfluffle by stating that I thought 18 and 19 year old boys coming into the female section of our weightlifting board in order to tell the grown wimmins what to do was, for lack of a better word, icky. So, yeah, non-productive and apparently cranky day.

In the better news from yesterday, my girl Liz told us she won two trophies Saturday in her first ever powerlifting competition: bench press and best overall woman. Yay, Liz. She was really proud of herself, but also playing it down as being a small local competition for charity. Hey! Winning is winning! Especially on your very first try!

Oh, I did throw some junk out yesterday too, so that was kinda productive. And sad. I'm taking credit for it. It wasn't all napping, arguing, and British TV.

Happy Monday!

xoxo

research

Remember how I told you I was doing my fantasy baseball due diligence so that I might take my bunch o' losers right up to mediocre this season? Here's a wee little tidbit from a writeup about possible future closers for the Baltimore Orioles: "[Alfredo] Simon has some experience in the role as well and may be an option if he escapes manslaughter charges in his native Dominican Republic." Oh, the lulz, the lulz. I had better make sure that none of the douchebags I plan on possibly drafting have any criminal cases pending, huh? God, not only do you have to worry about their elbows or their propensities to choke or whether they put on 30 pounds over the off-season, you gotta check whether they've killed anyone lately. Allegedly.

It's a good thing I'm not busy in work this afternoon! This might take awhile. Ahem.

xoxo

reporting in

First order of business. I had lunch with M2 at the newish vegan place in Central Square today. She prefaced her suggestion that we go there with, "I know I always complain about this place, but..." Apparently the service has gotten less incompetent and the food better with each successive visit, though the prices remain somewhat ridiculous and the vibe a little precious. But she's been eating cake and cheesecake and so forth and so on, and she just really wanted to go somewhere and eat a nice healthy salad. I understand. Sometimes you just need a vegetable.

So we went and here's an example of the precious: the salad I got was called The Sufi Poet. Did you just throw up in your mouth a little? Yeah. It did not contain any poets, so false advertising, dudes. I was saying to M2 that I hate when restaurants use those stoopid "clever" names for their foods. Like, when I go to Coven, they have the best chicken salad. It's just awesome. But they call it something ridiculous. I refuse to order it by that name. I say, "I want some of that chicken salad." Anyway, my Sufi Poet was good, but it contained approximately two tablespoons of hummus. I do not know how these full time vegan people can survive on that pitiable amount of protein.

Second example of the precious: while they serve caffeinated tea, wine, and beer, they do not serve coffee. They serve some kind of "healthy" coffee substitute. That irritates M2 to no end. We both decided to go for the tea. She had a chai latte and I had a green tea latte. Your choices for latte making are: rice milk, soy milk, almond milk, or half & half. I don't know what vegan half & half could possibly contain, but I was not gonna find out either. Almond milk, thank you!

Second order of business. I was not too concerned with the lack of protein in my lunch, because I had already had two banana muscle milks, one before and one after the gym. I think I am becoming addicted to that stuff, which is not good, because on sale at Shaws it is $2.50 a bottle and off the shelf at 7 eleven, it's fucking four bucks. Which I have paid. Ahem. But, man, that fake banana flavor is so good. I know I should be embarrassed to admit my palate is that unsophisticated, but all y'all already know my VitaminWater shame, so whatever.

Third order of business. So then I was headed home from town at the beginning of rush hour, and when you are on public transportation, whether it's the commuter rail or the express bus, at rush hour, you will find that there are people who all take the same train/bus every day and thus all know each other and are all chummy. And so they have intimate conversations. This is how I heard all about the young woman behind me's mother being upset that she is spending too much time with her new beau. "She doesn't understand, it's all new and fresh and exciting. It's hard for me to tear myself away from him. She says, 'you see him all day at work' but that's completely different. At work we're not holding hands, we're not kissing... She wants me to get pregnant, but I don't understand how she thinks that's supposed to happen if we're not alone together." Just reread that and process it for a moment. And then take it as piece of evidence #3295 that I live, if not in the ghetto, at least ghetto-adjacent.

Okay, all this vegetable eating and eavesdropping was tiring, so I must retire for the evening. Peace!

xoxo

this just in

Congratulations, Andrea [name redacted]!

NCBTMB is pleased to inform you that your certification has been extended through: . Thank you for helping to advance the field of massage therapy and bodywork - and for your continued commitment to professionalism and ethical practice.

Your new certificate and recertification packet should arrive in the mail within the next week or so.

I guess it's not going to take three to four weeks after all and no one's got to perjure themselves! My check must have cleared. That M2, I should never doubt her.

Oh, and in other follow up? I see in amongst all that writing I've been doing, I managed to somehow delete what I wrote on Saturday. Son of a bitch. It was only a couple paragraphs of the next scene, but still.

xoxo

what's new, pussycat?

Can I just tell you, I went to the new TJMaxx yesterday and bought a very cute shirt, which I am wearing even as I type, and a pair of jeans that depressed me highly? Just keep your comments about why a person would buy pants that depress them to yourselves please. Anyway, the thing is/was that I didn't have a pair of tight jeans anymore, suitable for going out and so forth. All my jeans that I wear day-to-day that fit are kinda loose, which is fine for the supermarket or the mall, but not for when you want to get dressed up. All my male readers are now going, "What is this concept of dressy 'going out' jeans you speak of?" (Except perhaps Mr Indemnity, because I think in all our years of friendship and my advising him on his wardrobe, I finally indoctrinated him in this.) Just take it on faith, male persons: a girl needs going out jeans.

These jeans I ended up buying are very silly and I should probably be embarrassed to wear them in any case. They are very low waisted, which is okay since I've got no muffin top, bitches, but not so okay in that, one wrong move, and underwear exposure or butt crack. They also have bling on the back pockets. You people know I have an unnatural affinity for bling. It's almost a sickness. They were also pretty damn cheap in comparison to what I usually pay for my jeans. But what made me sad, so sad, is that while these jeans look awesome from the front and okay from the side, from the back it is apparent that my saddlebag goo is still in full force. It's very discouraging. I cannot afford to lose any more weight. I have been working hard in the gym for seven months. That the backs of my legs still look that bad makes me want to cry, because I can't see what I could possibly be doing better. I'm keeping them as inspiration pants, with the hope that someday I'll actually look sexeh in them. Like I said, I'm out of ideas on how I'm gonna accomplish that, but whatever.

Also new? I actually have been writing for real again! I dug out a story that has been unfinished for literally years and over the past week wrote 3300 new words. That's the good news. The bad news is I still don't know what happens in the end. It'll come to me!

And also new? My national certification in massage therapy, which is good for 4 years at a time, was due to be up this month. M2 and G did their recerts in January after we all took a cheap online ethics course (because of your required CEUs, six have to be ethics ::insert eyeroll here::) I got my stuff together and mailed my recert stuff in February. Basically they want a list of your CEUs, which I had all in one nice folder which I knew exactly where it was--I bet you are surprised, aren't you, bitches?, and they wanted to know how many massages you've done per year in the last four years and where. You are supposed to keep track of that. Let us just say, I have not. But after a couple of days of going through calendars, old emails, and a notebook I had when I worked for the evil massage place, I was able to make a good honest guess. You do not have to provide any proof with your application unless you are selected to be audited. Then they want logs with clients' names blacked out, plus a letter from any place you worked at, testifying to that fact.

Well, you know I immediately freaked out when I saw the random audit threat. While I could recreate logs of all the massages I have done on my own--and if I made a mistake with a date here or there, who'd know?--I could never get a letter from those evil massage bastards (who hopefully are in federal prison by now) and while I have a list of most of my clients there, I have no idea what dates they were seen. M2 assured me that she thinks the random audit threat is just a threat and that she thinks no one gets audited unless they've also filled out the section asking if you've been arrested or sued. Or if your check doesn't clear. She's far less freaked out by this kind of thing than I am. So, anyway, I asked her the last time I saw her how long it took her to get a response, because I had, at that point, probably mailed my stuff in 10 days prior. She said that it took longer than that and not to worry. Well. What did I get in my email this morning, but confirmation that they had received my packet and that, unless they need further info from me, I should get my new certificate in the mail in three to four weeks. Cross your fingers I do NOT hear anything from them till my certificate arrives. And, btw? Apparently they do not move swiftly. It's gotta be a month now since I mailed that stuff.

Okay, I am sure this was all very fascinating. Carry on.

xoxo

to sleep perchance...

You know how in dream interpretation, they always say the persons in your dreams aren't necessarily the real person? (I mean, like, it's meant to reassure you if you have a sex dream about someone really really really inappropriate and perhaps squicky.) No, the persons in your dream are either symbolic of what that person means to you OR they're just random placeholders your brain throws in.

So, say, if you have a sex dream about dear sweet old aunt Louise, who you associate with, I dunno, kindness and nurturing, maybe your subconscious is telling you that you really need nicer sex partners who will take care of you. Or maybe you were thinking about aunt Louise earlier in the day for some unrelated matter, then you had a sex dream because your libido is in full swing, and your brain throws aunt Louise in just because she's at the top of the file cabinet, so to speak. In either case, do not fret. You really do not want to commit incest with an 80 year old woman. Whew. Load off, right?

What brings this up? I woke up this morning in the midst of a (non-sex, thank you very much!) dream starring someone who I (should we use the word "hate" here? no, we'll go with) despise and dislike very strongly with almost every fiber of my being. Ha! And in this dream, this person was--instead of being their usual waste of a human life--actually somewhat...nice. Kind. Pleasant. Even in my dream, I was deeply suspicious of this, and perplexed. I believe I commented on it in the dream itself.

I might add, this is the second time in less than a month that I have dreamed about this person for no apparent reason. So now I am wondering a.) are they really them in my dream b.) if they are not, what the hell are they supposed to symbolize and c.) why can't my subconscious and/or my nervous system just give me another nice sex dream about Anthony Kiedis? Because I liked that one!

Peace!

xoxo

how did we live without youtube?

With all the tragedy and sadness in the world, just be glad that there exist other human beings who have the time and the wherewithal to create things like this. I have no other words.




xoxo

not complaints, just observations

1.) I have recently obtained two items that live in my bathroom. They are both in pump bottles, pump bottles of very similar size and shape. One is blue, one is blue and white. One contains hair "product", the other eyeglass cleaning fluid. So far, this has not led to any early morning tragedies, but you know the potential is there, in both directions. And it will happen.

2.) I weigh one pound less than on Monday, but still three pounds more than last Monday. Really, Cheesecake Factory, really?

3.) My excuse that it is pointless to vacuum and wash the floors because of all the snow/slush/muck that gets carried in, no matter how much we try to be careful of it, has pretty much run its course. You know what that means. I either have to find a new plausible excuse or clean the damn house. Sigh.

4.) D has started playing the drums again, which besides gladdening my heart that the $800 drum kit in my basement is not there just to gather cobwebs, also gladdens my heart because I am happy when he shows interest in any of his former pastimes and hobbies that don't involve lying on the couch watching CNN, shows about ancient astronauts, or Pawn Stars. However, listening to someone practice drumming isn't the musical treat you might think. Ahem.

5.) And not so much an observation but a very puzzled query. I saw a bumper sticker today that read, "Please, God, just one more bubble." Does anyone have any idea WTF that refers to?

xoxo

from the internet to you

1.) Now THIS is probably end-of-days. The best part is how she's smiling, with dimples, in her mugshot. Sociopathology, the gift that keeps on giving. Or something like that.

(But we all knew those people in Cow Hampshire are skeery anyway, right? Except M1. She's not skeery.)

2.) To touch on something that was in my movie review no one read, sorta:

3.) Just notice the release date on this and just keep in mind someone's birthday is in November. All I'm sayin'.

xoxo

end of days and other trivia

Does it seem to anyone else that both the natural disasters and the man-made upheavals are coming closer and closer together in a non-ending stream of tragedy and horror? Or is it just that my kid has had CNN or MSNBC on continuously for like the past two months and thus I can't escape hearing about Mother Nature and humans fucking up other humans on a daily basis? Did everyone sleep a little more soundly back when we weren't on a 24 hour news cycle and the knowledge of what happened hundreds and thousands of miles away was more sketchy and a person could, at least somewhat, ignore cataclysms that didn't occur right outside their front door? And was that a good thing or a bad thing?

At least it puts into perspective the fact that this chicken kabob salad I'm eating sucks and that we should have ordered from somewhere else.

Despite the fact that the Mayans (2012, baby) or the fringe Christians (the Rapture, dudes) are probably right and the fact that, see above, the news is sad and depressing and the fact that I weigh four pounds more today than I did last Monday (did I mention that little trip to the Cheesecake Factory this weekend?), not to mention my sucky and disappointing lunch, I am nevertheless still in a fairly good mood because I have convinced myself spring is here. And thus I am at work, as I was on Saturday, in ballet flats without socks. My feet froze while I was waiting for my bus, but whatever. The tyranny of boots every day has been overthrown. And I am NOT wearing my down jacket again till November unless it actually snows again. Which, sweet baby Jesus, it had better not.

And any day now I will run outside (after work WHEN IT ISN'T DARK OUT YET!)

xoxo

continuances

1.) I was in the Shaws in Salem a little bit ago and they had grape tomatoes. For $4.99 a fucking pint. Tomato crop failed somewhere, bitches.

2.) Had my new class with Liz today and she said, re starting me out on step-ups with 6 risers, "I know this won't be a problem for you, because you're in awesome shape." She also said, re my 75 lb seated calf raises, "That's impressive!" And similar nice things about how much my flat press and db rows have gone up since I took her class last fall. And then after class, she taught me how to do a straightlegged dumbbell deadlift. Yay! I lurve her. I honestly don't know who I lurve more this week, her or Angela my magic nail lady.

3a.) Yesterday at B&N, I spent some time looking at Jay-Z's book. (Don't worry, theme week is over and I will not subject you to a video.) I'm sorry, but I cannot justify spending $35 on a hard cover book in which Mr Carter-Knowles deconstructs his lyrics, no matter how much the gentleman fascinates me. Besides, he doesn't need my money. So I spent 15 or 20 minutes reading the parts I really wanted to read in the aisle. You will not remember, but at one point in this blog, I queried whether the pun in "we'll see how smart you are when the canines come" followed by the chorus of "I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one" was intentional. Well, yes, Mr Carter-Knowles says in his book that every usage of bitch in that song refers to something other than a woman, mentions that example in particular, says that it was deliberate, and that in fact, he wrote the song just waiting for people to flip out, misconstrue the lyrics and call it misogyny. All of which, as well as the other parts of the book I read, reinforce my previous impression that he's one hell of a smart dude. Which makes me lurve his former-drug-dealing, present filthy-rich ass even more, because you know uneducated people who have gotten through by way of their native brilliance are my favorite kind of people.

3b.) I made Mr Indemnity go back and watch that Jay-Z video I posted for you, because he is my watch expert and I thought he could identify what kind Mr Carter-Knowles is wearing in the limo. But sadly he told me that watches with that amount of diamonds on them fall outside his area of expertise. Ha!

xoxo

the adjustment bureau

There are gonna be mad spoilers in this, yo, so if you want to see this movie and you don't already know what it's about (I didn't going in), I suggest you stop reading. It pains me to ever tell anyone not to read my crap, but there you go.

First, before I start pointing out gaping plot holes or discussing the philosophical problems I have with some of the film's basic messages, let me just say that I enjoyed it very much. It was fun, it definitely held my interest--no "how much longer is this movie?" moments at all, and the plot holes and philosophical differences were not annoying enough to me personally to ruin that enjoyment. I also particularly like, in books and movies, this particular genre of fantasy, so I was, I suppose, predisposed to having fun with it. Also, we had free passes!

Okay, onto what the movie is about. Matt Damon is a young, charismatic senatorial candidate from NY whose lead in the race is blown when pictures of him mooning his college friends are leaked to the newspapers. On the evening of his defeat, preparing to make a hokey cliche concession speech, he cute-meets a woman hiding in the men's room. After sharing a few moments of conversation and a kiss, he goes out and instead of making his planned speech, gets up and just talks honestly. (This turns out to be so electrifying, it revives his whole political career.) Meanwhile, we the audience are being shown the guys in the hats--the Adjustment Bureau--keeping tabs on him. A month later, on his first day at his new private sector job, we're shown two of the AB guys in the park, one telling the other that Damon must spill his coffee on his tie by 7:05. The guy that's supposed to make this happen dozes off on the park bench, however. Matt Damon gets on his bus undisturbed, bumps into the woman from the men's room again (who he hasn't been able to get out of his mind) and after sharing more chemistry, gets her number, and then arrives at his new job on time. Where he finds everyone frozen in time and his friend/colleague being mindswept with some kind of device. Heh. This all was not supposed to happen.

After a chase scene, we find out that there is a Higher Power keeping humanity on The Plan, and the Adjustment Bureau is tasked with nudging us back onto it whenever we start to stray from the path that is our fate. Matt was never supposed to see that woman again (so they take her number away from him and burn the card) and he was certainly not supposed to see Charlie getting his mind adjusted. They threaten Matt that if he ever reveals to anyone what he knows, his mind will be completely wiped, his thoughts, memories, and entire personality erased, and it will appear to everyone as if he's gone insane. Quibble: kinda think if he ever attempted to tell anyone this shit, they'd think he was insane anyway, but whatever.

Then the rest of the movie is about Matt three years later again running into the same woman, finding themselves desperately in love, and the Adjustment Bureau calling in the big guns to keep them apart. Because Matt's fate is to win his next senatorial campaign and eventually become president, and that can't/won't happen if her hooks up with her. Quibble #2: if it's so important to the course of all humanity that he become president, the threat of his being mindwiped becomes impotent, right? (Insert joke here about how drooling idiots *have* become POTUS, but how it's not ideal. Thanks.)

Quibble #3 and a little dip into philosophical waters: when the Adjustment Bureau guys (who are, basically, angels, which I should just call them to save on typing) are perplexed amongst themselves about why Matt and the girl keep running into each other by chance and why they are so smitten even though they aren't supposed to be together, there's some exposition that they originally--in an earlier version of The Plan--*were* supposed to be together and the echoes of that are what's causing all this, but how The Plan was changed circa 2005. It's never explained *why* The Plan would have suddenly been changed in 2005 and it's kinda hand-waved as "well, no one can ultimately understand The Plan but The Chairman (i.e God)." Which is an easy way out of plot problems, yo, and an easy way out of philosophical discomfort about the horrible things that happen in the world under a supposedly loving Supreme Being that's been used since Job, if not earlier. It's one of those things us heathens who don't just accept handwaving have with certain religious teachings, but it doesn't really hold up with movie plots either.

More philosophical disagreement: I was trying to explain this immediately after the movie and failing horribly, but I feel this kind of love story is incredibly culturally poisoning. The idea that you can see someone, meet someone, and instantly be "in love" and know that person is your soulmate is bogus. The conflation of attraction/chemistry with actual love has caused a lot of misery in the world. As I said last night, I wouldn't want a teenaged girl watching a steady stream of this kind of movie. They're best saved for cynical old broads like myself.

Final philosophical disagreement (this didn't even bother me when I was actually watching the movie, only in retrospect): there's a scene in which Matt asks an angel, "What about free will?!??!" and it is explained to him that humankind was being "guided" up through the Roman Empire and then the decision was made that maybe we were ready for Free Will. So we got it and, oops, there go The Dark Ages. So after a few hundred years of that failed experiment, we were guided again, and we got the Renaissance and the Enlightenment and the Industrial Revolution. So around 1910, we were given it back and, oops, World War I, the Great Depression, the Holocaust, the Cold War. So we lost it again before we could annihilate the planet with nuclear war. Watching the film, this caused just a little chuckle, but when I thought about it, how ridiculously Eurocentric is this? While Europe was in the Dark Ages, there were some pretty advanced civilizations cranking along in Central America and China and India. But I guess those were insignificant to The Plan, huh? And while, yes, the Holocaust was a horrible episode in human history***, what about the genocide of the native peoples of the Americas while we were supposedly being guided? I guess the Jews are important to The Plan, but the Native Americans not so much. OF COURSE, this just shows you the biases of the screenwriters, who I am sure were primarily, if not solely, a bunch of white males.

But it brings up a wider philosophical issue that I have with not just the movie, but with organized religion in general. That one little scene shows that the writers of the movie firmly believe that *their* history/culture is the One That Matters, that *they* are of course who is important. Well, I personally believe that is one of the basic psychological reasons religion was invented. We, as human beings, want to believe, against any and all evidence to the contrary, that we matter. From the time I was old enough to apply reason to what they force fed me in church and Catholic school, I had cognitive dissonance about the concept that the Supreme Creator of the Universe could really give a crap about things like whether I personally was at Mass on a Sunday, or if/how/with whom I had sex, or whether OMG I took his name in vain. It attached an importance to me and my petty little actions that I knew was ridiculous. But after having many years to ponder this and the societal ramifications thereof, I do realize that it is a basic psychological need many people have. In order to not feel alone and adrift in a random world, they need to convince themselves that they are in fact important enough to have a Supreme Being concerned about them and all the petty details of their existence. (That woman I told you about who was convinced Jesus cares about her weight loss is that taken to its most ridiculous extreme, but really, how is that any different than every NFL or MLB player who gives thanks to Jesus for his victory? If there is a Supreme Being, I guarantee you he doesn't give a shit who won the Superbowl.)

1...2...3... Oh, Andrea, it was just a movie!

Yes, yes, it was. And a fun one. Don't let me dissuade you from seeing it, particularly for free.

xoxo

*** don't you go all "Godwin's Law" on me, or I'll be forced to counter with this:

and the answer is...

It depends what cashier you get! I got charged two orders of bacon for six pieces this morning. Grumble, grumble.

But! I also have already had the opportunity to count my blessings today. On the bus on the way to work, a woman was having a cellphone conversation with her child. I'll try to transliterate as best as I can remember.

Harried, exasperated mother:

Just put your clothes on and go to school.

If you call me one more time, you are not going to that movie tomorrow.

Stop crying and put your jeans on. Put your jeans on.

Put your jeans on.

I don't care. Wear your jeans!

If I have to bring those back-- Just wear your jeans.

Then she got the grandmother, who the child was apparently with, on the phone. A rapid mixture of English and Spanish followed, the main point of which apparently was:

Too bad for her!

OMG, I remember those days and I am so very very happy they are over. As wonderful as having children can be, I do not miss 1.) phone calls at work or on the way to work about some crisis I'm supposed to solve when I'm not there and 2.) getting to work in the morning with my blood pressure spiked 30 points already because getting the kid out to school on time involved so much agita. Listening to this poor woman's side of that conversation flooded me with empathy and made me so very glad I will never have to deal with that again. Unless my contractor future second ex-husband comes through with the step-grandchildren, that is. At which point I'd be the one harassing the frustrated parent on the phone, I suppose. That'd be a step up, right?

xoxo

it's bowie friday again

Age gracefully! Marry a supermodel who's actually pretty! (Too late for you, Brady! Ha!) Be cooler than everyone else in the fucking world and OWN it! After all...it's Friday, bitches!

xoxo

P.S. I hold this video *directly* responsible for my "handsome man in impeccable suit" fetish. I hope my future contractor second ex-husband cleans up well. Ha!

and in better news

The miraculous Angela fixed my toenail tonight. She said the underneath nail was fine and was going to grow in just fine, snipped off the part that was hanging on by the barest thread, and made my feet look normal again. No bandaid all summer for me!

I am too tired to provide you with photographic proof of all this, so just trust. That woman is worth the exorbitant sum I pay for my pedis. I cannot praise her enough.

xoxo

have a lil wayne and eminem thursday

Fuck sad, just be angry. Last chance this week to tattoo something or marry someone problematic. But stay outta Rikers gen pop and put down the vikes, muthafuckas.

xoxo

in today's mail...

I got a summons for federal jury duty. (And they do not care I just did state jury duty.) Three fucking weeks in May. Three. No electronic devices in the courthouse. I am overjoyed. As you can imagine.

This is NOT what is supposed to happen on Trent Reznor Wednesday, I'll tell you what.

Oh, and I've got complaints left over from yesterday, too. Is there some kind of grape tomato shortage going on? I ordered some with my peapod order and they were out of stock, which was strange. So yesterday after acupuncture I went to the Shaws near Marcy's office and they had none either. Did the crop suddenly fail or what? It is fucking with my ability to have my salads they way I want them. God. All was not completely lost however, since I then stopped in B&N on my way to the subway and bought two fantasy baseball magazines. (There were like 6 to choose from. No lie.) I'ma take my band of sad losers all the way to mediocre this year. You just watch!

xoxo

have a very very trent reznor wednesday

Pierce something. Be angry, and sad. Contemplate more disturbing imagery, religious or otherwise. Give a friend a beating! But step away from the ego-maniacal control-freaking. (And the absinthe. No absinthe!)

And as a bonus, check out the arms on a more latter-day Mr Reznor. Apparently at some point in getting sober (is he still sober? I have no idea), Trent started hitting the gym.



I mean, he's no Henry Rollins--or malevolent andrea (oh, I kill myself)--but, yeah, gun show!

xoxo

P.S. When I click on the NIN videos to make sure they work, google ads wants to sell me yoga pants. Remember how I told you I think I'm turning into one of those people I hate? Sigh. As much as I like to think of myself as the kind of person who goes out and pierces something and then contemplates disturbing images, the omniscient google knows I'm really more the kind of person who buys expensive yoga pants. I don't know what to tell you.

have an amy winehouse tuesday

Tattoo something! Bust out the eyeliner, the pushup bra, and your Bump-it! Make a dubious marital choice! But put down that bottle of gin before someone gets hurt, 'k? (And you know what I told you about the heroin.)

xoxo

literary endeavors

So, bitches, I am still all excited by this kindle self-publishing thing and have been wasting spending much time investigating it. I found a whole website, not owned by amazon, devoted to nothing but discussing the kindle and which contains a subforum for people who write for the kindle. It's a busy, busy place. Suddenly I feel like, whoa, there's a whole nother world I knew nothing about. (Kinda like when I found the hoarder-people's message boards!) There is all this helpful chatter about designing your ebook cover and publicizing and "tags" and pricing and writing a good "product description," which is to say, your blurb.

And the latter sent me to the amazon kindle store to actually read some and to see what genre classifications amazon has and what was selling in them. One thing led to another and I was looking at the erotica titles (which, best thing ever to put on your kindle if you think about it--no humiliating covers to worry about in public, yo). And there I found that, Oh Em Gee, you can already buy something for your kindle that was (partially) authored by me. And under my real name, too!

You see, boys and girls, many years ago--1996 to be exact--one of the first stories I ever sold was to an anthology of literary scifi erotica (shut UP). Now being that it was 1996, the internet was, if not in its infancy, at least still wearing pullups, if you know what I mean. There was absolutely no conception in the average person's mind that it would grow to be the kind of thing where you could find out anything about anyone forever, you know? I felt perfectly comfortable about putting my whole full name on this staggering work of smutty genius because anyone who was going to read it would have had to go looking for small press literary scifi erotica, and if they happened to be any of my relatives, co-workers, or neighbors, well, hell, they'd have to be as guilty of buying it as I was of writing it, correct?

(This inability to foresee the future came back to bite me in the ass, however, as such things do, somewhere around the turn of the century when our friend google became The Thing and vanity googling was everyone's new pastime. My young teenage son and I decided to google me one evening and what should pop up as the first result? Oh, just a review of said smutty anthology. "Let's google your dad!" I said, clicking away at the speed of light and hoping that was quick enough. Well, apparently not. A year or so later when D was at the apex of his pubertal obnoxiousness, I was telling my mom that I'd just sold another story. "What's it about?" she asked, just as D walked through the room. Under his breath with dripping sarcasm: "Elves having sex?" [For the record, I have never written about elves having sex. God.] Anyway, I learned my lesson and everything else I ever published that was NC17 from then on was published under a variant of my real name, one no one would think to google me under.)

But, to get back to the present, another thing the average person never envisioned in 1996 was the kindle. Whatever rights I sold to that anthology I guess didn't include me being paid another 50 bucks or whatever when the book was re-released in another format. Because I ain't seen a check in the mail and apparently it's been a kindle book since 2008. Writers: being screwed since cuneiform!

Okay. That is all.

xoxo

have a nirvana monday

Put your shirt back on. Be angry, and sad. Contemplate some disturbing religious imagery. Make a dubious marital choice. But stay away from the guns and the heroin, 'k?

xoxo

have a very rhcp sunday

Tattoo something! Play your bass! Refuse to wear a shirt! Just stay away from the heroin, 'k?




Or you could just go reread Dune. It'll take you about a week, but you could start now.

(As you can see, I've decided to have a theme week. You Adventurers love theme weeks, doncha? Editorial note: I wanted to give you the video to Suck My Kiss, but the embed code was disabled on youtube. Bastards!)

xoxo

then treat your favorite team like hunks o' meat

I'll take "athletic men in tight pants" for $400, Alex.

xoxo

have a jay-z saturday

And then let me tell you a few things. Mr Indemnity must have been bored in work yesterday, because he was forwarding me stuff like whoa, which I always appreciate. It's nice when the blog fodder comes to *you*.

There was this, about everyone's favorite coke addict. My quibble with it? The reason Chris Brown was so reviled for beating up Rihanna has little to do with her being as/more successful than him and much to do with the leaked photos of her absolutely battered face. There's an instinctive revulsion to seeing a young (and, yes, especially beautiful) girl with her face bruised and swollen and cut that "he pushed me" or "he threatened me with a knife" does not invoke. This may not be fair, but it is what it is. If there were pictures of any of Charlie's women with shocking facial injuries circulating, the public would have turned on him sooner, I'm willing to bet.

Then there was Derek Jeter comedy. By the time I got to the colostomy bag, I was literally LOLing.

I countered by sending him this, considering we'd been talking about ebooks, and his disgruntlement with how certain things he wanted to buy for his kindle were actually cheaper in paperback. But that has nothing to do with my link. My link just makes me lament that I have NO skill at self-promotion, because god knows, I've got a shitty genre novel (and a half!) that I would love to sell electronically, since apparently it's totally doable these days. Maybe I'll start writing again. (You've heard that before, haven't you? Shut up. It could happen.)

xoxo

ch-ch-changes

Have I ever used that as a blog title before? Something tells me "yes" but no worries. Everyone's Friday is better with a little Bowie. Trust.

On my way to work this morning I noticed that the AJ Wright they just opened a few months ago (the one I thought was gonna be an AC Moore [but not an LL Bean]) is now a TJ Maxx. If this happened like three weeks ago and I just haven't been paying attention, don't tell me, okay? Was the whole company bought out? In any case, I hope it means the quality of the merchandise will go up so that I might occasionally shop there.

In other news, while as mentioned, I really like my new glasses, I've been thinking they make me look older by drawing attention to the brackets around my mouth (i.e. the wrinkles I *don't* like). However just now in the bathroom here in work, putting them on and taking them off, it occurred to me that perhaps it isn't that they draw attention to my wrinkles, it's that when they're on I can fucking see my wrinkles better. Oops. WHAT THE HELL DO YOU EXPECT? I'M CLOSER TO DEATH THAN HIGH SCHOOL!

Happy Bowie-ful Friday. At 11 am send good boob thoughts my way.

xoxo

Addendum: Left boob is, as expected, just fine (if cyst-ridden), though in the words of both the ultrasound tech and the radiologist, I'm "lumpy-bumpy." That, apparently, is the technical term. Who knew?

questions you can't ask people

(BTW, I've decided, this must be PMS. I am cranky as all get out today.)

Do you remember me telling you all about my lil online admirer who's been blatantly flirting for months, flirting I do not in any way encourage considering he lives in Alabama, is a Yankees fan, and is religious, all of which are huge impediments to us ever sharing hot monkey love? Plus, as far as I can tell, he's not a contractor, so chuh. This does not keep him from flirting, but it's all harmless. Well, a few weeks ago, I ascertained for certain that the kind of religious he is, is some sort of mainstream Protestant. He was discussing having been asked to give a guest sermon at his church as the minister was gonna be away. At the same time--this was around the time I was getting ready to take my progress pictures--he was "joking" that if he lived closer, he'd be happy to take pics of me in my underwear. I wanted to tell him that I was pretty sure Jesus didn't want him to perv on strange women while he was writing a sermon, but I really don't know him well enough to know if he would have taken offense to that or gotten the joke.

Anyway, the reason he is a Yankees fan is that he grew up in the Bronx. He has a first name that may have certain ethnic associations, or maybe not. And then today, he used the word mitzvah in a sentence.

I really really want to ask him if he's Jewish and converted, but it's none of my business and I don't want to bring up the topic of religion anyway, in case he's one of these "save you" types. These are the times I wish for the help of The Benevolent L, 'cause she'd get it all out of him before he knew what hit him! Sigh.

xoxo

registering some complaints

You must admit it's been awhile. Also? It's possible I have PMS.

Complaint #1: I ordered something from a website that has lately adapted the "amazon model" of free shipping all the time if you spend over a certain minimum. They ship by Fed Ex. I go onto the Fed Ex website to see where my package is in its travels to me and find that as of 5 am today, it is in Northborough. And the scheduled delivery date is...Monday. Um, do they have a big pallet labelled "cheap bastards who didn't pay for shipping" where packages linger a few days? Because I'm fairly sure my Fed Ex man could walk the package to my house from Northborough by tomorrow.

Complaint #2: I had my yearly routine mammogram yesterday and this morning they were already calling me back for more pics of my left breast. That's happening tomorrow. I am extremely sick of this. Almost every mammogram I have ever had, I've had to go back for more films. I have microcalcifications. I have cysts in that left breast. I probably will have breast cancer someday from them irradiating me so goddamn much taking extra views of shit they will then tell me is benign. But today is not that day. My GYN just groped my breasts the other day and didn't feel anything amiss.

Complaint #3: It is so cold and so dry, my hair is completely filled with static and will not lie right.

Complaint #4: I forgot to put in my eyedrops today and my eyes are scary red.

Complaint #5: Put 3 and 4 together and I look like shit even though I am wearing my new cute pants.

The End.

xoxo

people who...

terrorize their innocent readers with their sex stories should follow up by posting innocent pictures with very few words attached. As a palate cleanser. So to speak.

In that spirit, I give you my new glasses, and new haircut and color. Et voila.




And honestly, this is why I can't have a facebook. It's impossible for me to take a picture without having drunkface even when I am sober as a nun in Antarctica.

xoxo