Laughing All The Way

Wednesday, September 02, 2009

You Can’t Handle The Truth

Today I read a story in the New York Times (I’ll give you a minute to skim). And it made me mad.

The new assholes all over the internet are learning all about the internet. Bitches, we’ve all been here for a decade and now you want to talk about how what you write on the internet isn’t private. Thanks. No really, I hadn’t known that.

My mom has found facebook. She’s my friend. As are a bunch of other people that I couldn’t give a shit about in high school and certainly don’t now. I hide pretty much everyone, especially the girls from college and high school who post all about the meal they cooked for dinner and how their children are now fully potty trained. There is a reason why mommy blogs exist, go get a free blog and leave the rest of us alone. What kills me is that my inclination to post funny things about my day (like imaginary miscarriages - more about that next) has been buried because I know it would offend all these people I don’t even like in the first place.

My mom, new to the idea of the internet, was trying to explain facebook to me. No, seriously, she said: “And you can put little tid bits about your day into the box and people can see it all.” My mom then explained to me how you will be told who else you know on facebook because the magic of facebook (I didn’t try to explain to my mom computer logic and how she allowed access to her email address book, I let it be magic). I was honestly so incredulous about the whole “let me tell you about the internet thing” that I called her back when Bruce and I were driving somewhere, put her on speaker phone and had her go through the details of the internet again. Bruce was equally entertained by the dialogue and when my mom gets to the part of her spiel about how when you post something on facebook you have to be careful because anything you write can be read by everyone else and so it’s not really a private conversation and in fact, everyone in America can read what you just wrote (not getting into the details of how, really only friends can read what you write on facebook, didn’t want to confuse the new girl). Bruce chose this moment to interject “everyone in the whole world can read what you just wrote.” My mom actually squeaked “THE WHOLE WORLD!” She promptly hung up, I am sure to go tell her husband that the whole world can read what she posts on the internet.

On one level I just want to laugh, because a) this is laughing all the way and b) it’s like people really haven’t been paying attention all along. Welcome to Web 2.0 fools. Careful to not feed the trolls. I’ve had such freedom here, posting what I want, when I want about who I want without a care. Facebook is painfully dull because I have to be so cautious about who and what and why and how foul. I’ve never had to worry about snark or scorched earth (remember that guy, I fucked him up! It was fun). I talked about sex, drugs and bikini waxing (more about that later too). I’ve talked about Bruce (who by the way, tried to tell me that he didn’t really know how to text with his phone. The fool has a blackberry for his phone and he can’t figure out how to send a text. Douche). I’ve made fun of my family (see above) and said fuck…a lot. It’s been a while since I’ve blogged with any regularity and I don’t know if I have the brain power to do so again for the time being, but I love the ability to come here and say what I mean to say (John Mayer is annoying - stop twittering you fucking tool). SEE! While my life is far less exciting than when I first started blogging, for instance, I don’t drink, smoke or snort anything (oh but I do take pills yay for pills), I think as I find the next phase of my blogging self I will get back on the writing horse.

The laters:

I was at the gym on Monday and my trainer (who I call the Workout Nazi, something that would offend most of my Jewish family on facebook - losers ruining my good times) kicked my ass and made me puke three times. I had eaten half of a granola bar two hours before and my stomach took way too long to digest.  I was trying to do that thing I do when I am drunk and I am going to puke so I breathe deeply through my nose. Unfortunately all I could do was run to the bathroom and vomit. Hard. So I became that bulimic girl at the gym. It was like college all over again without the drunk whores passed out. I knew that all 6 women in the other stall heard the whole thing. I was prepared with a story. If asked if I was okay, I was going to say that I was pregnant (“I don’t know why they call it morning sickness, I have it all day!”). Then I realized that in 9 months they would be like, where’s the baby. At which point I would have to say that sadly I miscarried shortly thereafter.

I was going to facebook the story, but then figured my mom and the facebook mommy bloggers would not find that at all funny. And so I didn’t post.

Also, I’ve gone for a second course of laser therapy for hair removal. By May 2010 I will be like those hairless pussies. HA. No really, HA! I just couldn’t go on with the shaving and the waxing and the hair. Finally I took the plunge. I go, I put on numbing ointment, and a very nice women puts a laser when the sun has never shined. I have the distinct honor of being able to tell you all about the time a laser was slid between my ass cheeks and shocked the hair follicles into submission. The two days after are nice, then there is the growth period where the dead hairs work their way out from the root and then the shedding begins. I love shedding. I feel like if I can live through the electrocution of the hair on my labia (fun with google search key words), which is the most painful thing to happen to me that I will pay for repeatedly, then I can probably do anything.

Pills are awesome. I have been playing with antidepressants to treat my tinnitus. My primary care physician has been refreshingly willing to keep changing things up without requiring me to come in with every prescription change. I’ve not found the perfect pill in the perfect dose. What I have found is that I have an opposite reaction to Elavil (up all night with rhonda shear). Also, Paxil plus sudafed makes me feel like I did an eight ball of coke. You can imagine how much I love Paxil and sudafed when trying to work and not be totally high and fucked up. I asked my co-worker if I seemed high, also, if she thought I was acting straight. She said “yes and no.”

I am now going to go troll the internet and write mean things that all the other people in the world can read.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

This has been my week

I have had one of those weeks. You know, the type of week where you look around for the hidden camera.

This is part one of my wonky week,

this is part two,

and this is part three.

Part one was found when I went looking for a knee brace. Running on the treadmill is killing my right knee. I was innocently minding my metaphorical p’s and q’s when I happened upon what can only be described as the wackiest thing in the knee brace section.

Part two was found when I was whipping my way through target to get some new socks for the gym (see part one).

Part three was found when I was trying to make my way home after a very long week of political fire-cracker work week. As always I am keeping the work stuff to myself, but needless to say I find little humor in my very first San Francisco protest (by proxy because it wasn’t like I was in the actual protest, more on my way through said protest) blocking my way into my apartment. Bastard bleeding liberals need to not impede my ability to lay on my floor weeping from exhaustion.

Bruce and I are off to San Diego for the weekend. Hopefully I can find something to pack for the cocktail reception on Saturday. Otherwise I am going to have to hide in my room and that would be weirdly antisocial. Can I wear jeans to a cocktail reception?

Monday, June 09, 2008

Things My Boyfriend Says

Me: “We have to go to dinner. Let’s get ready.”
Bruce: “Ready.”
Me: “Don’t suppose you’re going to do anything about your hair?
Bruce: “?”
Me: “Your hair appears to be standing on end in the back.”
Bruce: “Sooooo?”
Me: “Take your shirt off, t-shirt too.”
Bruce: “Um, okay?”
Me: “Put your head in the sink.”
Bruce: (with his head in the sink) “What is going on here?”
Me: (Turning on the water) “Less talking, more washing.”
Bruce: “Don’t waterboard me Dick Cheney!”

Friday, February 29, 2008

Check it

I think Paris Hilton is a lesbian.

I’ve been thinking this for awhile and for those of you who know me and, well for those of you who don’t, I have a spot on gaydar. For the past year whenever I see pictures of her out and mostly off-guard, my gaydar is pinging. And then the more I consider things, the pinging turns into a full fledged air horn.

I mean that sex video with her dead eyes as she’s on all fours. Dude, that is someone who is totally removed from the experience. And sure, maybe she was just stupidly high, but there’s more. The pictures of her kissing her various female friends while seemingly innocuous, after all, all the kids are doing it, also remind me of a friend I had in high school. This friend would like to make out with girls and laugh it off as something she did to mess with the guys. This friend now has a myspace page talking about her great lesbian life.

I just bet that in forty years, thirty-nine years after she dies some tragic Hollywood death (what?) some tell all book will come out and people will be all: “Paris, yeah, she was a big ol’ lezzer. She liked the ladies, but hey, it was hard for her to be open and all. So she hid the truth and drank herself to death.”

Thursday, February 21, 2008

This won’t hurt a bit

See, I was serious this time. I really will post.

The exciting news du jour is that this weekend is the company party for my employer. Health care has this thing called “Flu season” during which we try to avoid congregating in large crowds in warm rooms. The company party is therefore planning for the time when people stop contracting the strain of flu that leaves you dehydrated and covered in your own vomit. No really, it was that bad.

The dress code is semi-formal to formal, and I have it on good authority that there will be ball gowns and tuxedos on some of the attendees. I myself was going to wear the black dress that I wore to Carrie Un-Patched’s wedding and to Bruce’s holiday party, but then I was doing laundry and found a gold dress I had forgotten that I bought over the winter.

And that brings me to the crux of this post, who forgets that they have a gold dress? No really, how is it that I was going on with my business and never knowing that I have a perfect kicky gold dress that is entirely appropriate for a semi-formal celebration. Now the only problem I have is deciding which dress to wear.

If I wear the black dress it will be with fishnets and peeptoe/slingbacks. If I wear the gold it will be with black tights and black pointy toes. The fishnets are fun and young and the black tights are slimming.

OMG! I’ve just come up with the best idea, COSTUME CHANGE! Sometimes I totally amaze myself. How amazing would it be if I show up in one dress and leave in another. It will be just like college all over again. Those were the days.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Materially Speaking

Sometimes the universe sends me signs and sometimes I have to figure things out all on my own. The stuff I figure out on my own is probably an indication that I am maturing as a person. Also it means I am a lot less fun.

The last five years were an exercise in getting exactly what I want and paying whatever it took to get it. Judging from the credit card debt I carried I was paying but add in the emotional toll, I was paying a whole lot more than I thought. Having been gainfully employed for the past two months I can happily say that I have closed most of my cards, paid off the rest and carry very little other than my college loans (which I will be paying until my imaginary children are in college). I think that I am pretty content with life as it is and my needs, immediate and otherwise, are being well met. My desire to shop has decreased to the point that I would much rather not try on clothes and buy something new for the sake of having something new to wear.

All that said, there is a bag that I want to hump. In fact, I may have humped it in my dreams last night. And the night before. And the night before that. This bag is worth more than I spent in rent for the year of 2005. It is what most people spend on their first car. Heck it’s worth more than my first and second cars combined. And yet I covet this bag in a way that I can’t remember coveting anything in my entire life. I don’t know the likelihood of my getting this bag for any one of the various holidays that come up during the next three months. Indications from Bruce are such that I am not expecting this bag to appear magically over the course of Hanukkah, Christmas, or my birthday. The only hope that remains is that my real family will seek me out after all these years of being separated as there was a mix up at the hospital all those years ago and my real family is so pleased to finally find me that they shower me with money and gifts including one very special bag.

What? A girl can dream.

Edited to Add:

People are after me for a look at the bag, here is the ad where I first saw it.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

The fish seem to be better today

This morning I fed them with the light on and they ate in their normal chumming way. They are very violent eaters; they swim around and dart at the food and churn up the water causing all the food particles to swirl around. It’s like they know how to make it look like they work hard for their food even though they are the laziest fish in the world and we hand feed them daily. Bruce theorized that they hang out underneath the filter because that is the place with the least amount of current and therefore they expend the least amount of energy moving their fins to stay in place.

I feel like they were conning me into feeling bad for them and their unnatural fear of the light. I’ve decided as punishment for their manipulative behavior I am no longer going to prevent Bruce from standing along side the fish tank and screaming “HELLO FISHIES!”

Bruce, for his part, is of no help in maintaining the wild jungle that is the fish tank. He is on his way to another country of the Asian persuasion. Yet again he is flying business class to a land that is far, far away and he will come back with annoying gestures and habits. He also better come back with something of the duty free variety that sparkles in the sun. For my part I am supportive, as ever, with regards to Bruce’s travel as the more he’s away the more I can justify buying the new designer bag I want that costs the equivalent of what I spent on rent last year.

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

Code Crazy

A patient here would like a refund for his visit. I get a lot of these requests. People do not like to believe that health care costs what it does. They also believe that we are making tons of money off the backs of the insurance companies. That’s so not what’s happening. But I’m not here to tell you about the way of the world, at least not today.

The patient, remember the patient, well he felt he deserved to have the charges on his bill reversed because the doctor he saw was unable to remove the radio transmitter device from his nasal passage. The patient felt that the doctor was getting paid too much for sitting with him for 45 minutes yet was totally unable to resolve the issue.

Luckily for this patient I wasn’t the doctor because there is no way I would have sat with him for 45 minutes discussing the variety of people who are tracking his movements via the radio transponder in his nasal cavity. I would have taken three minutes to call him crazy and then 42 minutes to do a Starbucks run.

And on that note, I have some other things I would like to share.

Quotes that came out of my mouth this past month:

“No you may not cut the back of your hair with nail clippers.”
“Stop trying to make me smell your hair.”
“I will not observe your underwear.”
“I think we broke our fish. They seem to have neurotic fear of the light.”
“Turns out the doctor was right about not jumping on the bed. How’s your head?”
“The hookers in LA have absolutely no work ethic.”
“I thought you just asked me if I thought that was a good dildo.”
“I can’t handle the truth.”

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Tocked

Work is going much better than I thought it would, inasmuch as I don’t want to cry at the end of each day.

The turmoil of the previous week was that when I was given the verbal offer I mentioned some days I would need off for some pre-existing commitments. The HR specialist said that the dates were fine. I didn’t think too much about anything until the day I first met with my supervisor and in the course of a conversation alluded to a big vacation I have planned in December. I don’t know what made me say something, I just felt like there should have been more of a recognition than I was given. I asked if she was aware of my plans for the next few months and she looked at me with an entirely blank face. And then she said: “Oh, I’m sorry. We have a strict policy about new employees not taking any personal time off for the first six months of employment.”

Eventually sanity won through and the medical director, to whom both my boss and I answer, gave the thumbs up on my time off through the beginning of next year.

Just as with every job the first weeks are a little slow going. I have times during the day where I stare aimlessly off into space. Luckily I face a wall so if I am careful about how I tilt my head no one can tell that my eyes have glazed over and a little drool has started to collect in the corner of my mouth. I’m sure that in about four months I am going to miss these days of aimless staring.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

And Scene

Okay, I’m back. But I’m leaving for London for a week. So haha.

Well, let’s see, today I received a job offer. I maintained my cool, and was very casual in my acceptance. Who am I kidding, I almost humped the caller’s leg (I know there are technical difficulties with that, but I’m going for the visual).

Yay work. I like money. I like a reason to leave the house daily. And thankfully the workplace is always an endless font of blogging juicy goodness.

I hope no one thought that my blog was dead (Atizz I may have broken your streak as a blog killer).

Okay, bye.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

That’s A Baby For Real

Friday morning I left the relative safety of my little corner of the world and ventured into the swamp that is Houston in the summer time. I was met at the airport by Natalie and we immediately determined that the only way to conduct business was if we were entirely intoxicated for the next 48 hours. Even when we weren’t officially intoxicated, I am sure we could have passed as such. Seriously, it was bad. For example, on the way from the airport to Nat’s place we stopped at a store to pick up a birthday gift. I am in the market for a vintage silver handbag to match a black dress. Nat and I combed the store for handbags and I found the perfect bag in a bronze finish. I showed it to Nat and said, “This is what I want, but in silver.” We continue to search, and low, I find the bag in silver. I am ecstatic, my search has ended and because the bag is so affordable, I end up buying both the silver and bronze bags. Too bad when I returned to California and take the bags out I realize I have a bronze bag and a GOLD bag. (What the fuck? I think it was the lighting, but now I own a bronze bag, TWO gold bags, and no silver bags. I think I might just try to find gold shoes that don’t make me look too hooker-esque and call it a day.)

So, yeah, we hadn’t even had a drink yet. So I don’t know what happened there.

There was a party for Brenda, Abe’s friend, so we did the thing where we change clothes and get our drink on. The party was at a restaurant where Brenda worked and thus half our meal (including alcohol) was comped. Natalie and I, not knowing that the alcohol was comped, made it our business to be sure that the alcohol would total a sum that would even out the comp of the meal. That’s right, we drank $55 worth of vodka, only to find out our plan was thwarted. (I like to talk like we PLANNED to drink that much). We were happy that our sober driver home drove us home, at which time we partook of milk and cookies and went to bed like well heeled young women.

Of course, as we are well heeled young women, we were up early and greeting the world with bright, shiny smiles. Again, milk and cookies were on the menu, then lunch, and a trip to target. I took the opportunity to intro Nat to the perfection that is the Swiffer. And thusly, Nat’s life is changed! Really. I did the living room, she took the kitchen and her house is a quick windex away from being the “Cleanest House in Houston.” That comes with a cash prize, so, you know, I’m doing what I can. Also, you should know that I think at this point the television had been on since I had first arrived and wouldn’t be shut off for another 24 hours.

After a mad rush of cleaning we made our way with Atizz to the Pride Parade in Houston. It was um…interesting. There were people and they were doing the thing and then there was a thing and then stuff happened. I think I will Nat and Amy cover Pride. BUT! But, but, but! We went to dinner after at some place and we were ordering drinks. I ordered what should have been a simple replacement (pineapple juice instead of cranberry juice). In fact I ordered two of these drinks. These drinks were marked at $8. What they were not marked as were “as is.” What this means is that when the bill came, the $8 drinks came to about $16 each. At that point I was drunk enough to not care too much, but I think that the waitress who failed to say, “we don’t do replacements for these drinks” should have offered to pay the extra $16 if the restaurant was not willing to comp the cost. And, I know that if this had happened to Amy or Nat they would have raised hell, and I probably should have, but then I am so use to going out and paying for a $15 martini in the city. I figure if the price had been listed as $16, I still would have ordered the drinks so I’m over it all.

There was a thing about the dinner that needed its own explanation. We had the pleasure of having dinner with Penelope. The person had a one up story for everything anyone else said. I don’t think it triggered until almost the end of the dinner, when they were telling yet another story about how their family was the best ever because of something whateverish, and I was about to say something in response, because, my family is pretty cool too, right? Instead I grabbed Nat’s knee. I’m sure a knowing look passed between us, but as this was the end of dinner, we were pretty tanked so I can’t really be held accountable for my version of events. Anyhoo, there was lots of laughter, and I am sure that between Nat and I we made some statements with a questionable basis in reality, but we are funny and we make people laugh, so that works. And After, we managed to find our way down the street to a club wherein more alcohol was consumed.

This is where things are a little fuzzy. I “borrowed” a Vicodin from someone and the combination of a mild pain reliever with alcohol with all the milk and cookies previously imbibed makes things kind of spin. I do remember Atizz forcing me to do a shot of Citron that really fucked me up. And that was when the bell rang. Nat and I “fell asleep” on the couch in various propped positions to alleviate the spinning. Nat managed to find her way to the bedroom but I was still pretty legless so I enjoyed the many comforts of couch sleeping.

Some other stuff happened and then Sarah came over for “brunch” (I don’t know why I am always making plans for brunch when I know the collective asses of my friends and myself are never going to eat before brunch ends). We found our way through some more milk and cookies, and then left for a meal of somewhat epic proportions, followed by, um, more food. God. We nestled in for some TV watching and collective snarking, because in this life, if the four of us are going to be in one place, you better bring your game. Eventually the time came to return to the airport and make my way back to the place where I lay my head.

My flight home went well. I enjoyed some more vodka and greatly impressed Bruce with my quality of life ( “How can you still be drunk?” ). So, okay, that was most of the dirt. 

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Salvation in a Bottle

I CANNOT wait for the new show on VH-1: Scott Baio is 45 and single.

The title alone sends me into orgasmic shivers. The promos show him confronting past girlfriends ala High Fidelity. There is a clip where it looks like Nicole Eggert is telling Scott Baio that because of him she had to take her first HIV test.

I am watching the finale of Celebrity Fit Club with Dustin Diamond spreading his angry fat-man anger all over the world (I don’t think he has anything redeeming qualities). He may have lost 30 pound but damn, he’s an angry fuck. Also, not funny. Some Girl knows funny and that sad fucker is not funny. 

Bruce and I are very busy, but not too busy to schedule another dental appointment. Bruce’s cavity needed a root canal so next week we have to return for the permanent crown. The car is looking still sad but we can’t get it fixed for a few more weeks.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

Vanity, Thy Name Is Some Girl.

This evening, as I was getting ready for bed, I went about my normal routine. And then I peed on the floor.

It started out all normal and I did what I do before bed, including, going to the bathroom. As I sat there, I happen to contemplate the last time I shave my bikini line. I had used a new product that was suppose to alleviate the razor rash. As I sat on the toilet I realized that thus far I have been bump and itch free. I then decided to inspect the area, not thinking that I should wait for everything else to finish first.

I gently spread the skin at the top of my thigh and as I did the stream of urine changed direction and there was an unexpected pool of urine on the floor in front of me. I just like to reaffirm to everyone that I am possibly the least graceful person to live on the planet.

Really, the point is that as cool as I seem in some ways there is an appropriate check that balances. I am worldly and well traveled and also klutzy. I am eloquent but often spill soup down the front of my shirt. I have my nails and hair done regularly yet occasionally pee on the floor. I am the embodiment of those photos in the tabloid magazines that scream: “Famous people are just like us: the buy groceries, they pick up dry cleaning, they park cars!”

For the record, this is the second fresh post in two days. Not that I’m counting or anything.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Go Ahead, Google Pussy.

Pussywillow came to town and I found where the gays live. Last month I received the text that portends the arrival of a gaystorm, “Coming to SF, can’t wait to see you!!!”

Pussy really became one of my nearest and dearest after I left London. We had had our moment of gay pride, the one where he said he was gay and where I said I love the gays. And we had our moment of excess that still makes us giggle when we think about how totally unfit for publication we were. On my way of of England in 2004 I took some time at the airport to send a goodbye text to a few people to make sure they had my contact info. Even though Pussy and I had only spent a few times reveling through the streets of London, I sent him that text. I just knew that I wanted to be part of his life.

In the years since that text, Pussy and I have seen each other more regularly than intercontinental living often provides. When I am in London I stay at his and when he comes to America I am stop one for him. It seems only fair that when we go out we do the gay thing. I think that we’ve gone from gay reveling to true friends. He tells me things that I don’t necessarily want to hear and I give him advice on dating type things.

We started out at a club called The Stud and it seemed that it was Bear Night. Fun was had by all, but there was a moment when I had to step in and beat a fag off my gay. I believe the exact quote I used was: “Leave my gay alone.” Pussy backed up my claim that I would take out the motherfucker who was messing with my boy. (Side note: Any gay who looks down their nose at my gay will have words with me, don’t treat my gay like that, especially when you are wearing a shirt that says ‘Phat Phaggy Phuck’ when in reality it should say ‘Fat Ugly Fucker’.) The drinks were stiff and kicked my ass, I was off the booze for the rest of the night.

From there we hit Badlands and quickly moved onto the Cafe. If I could figure out how to get a photo from my camera to my computer (sometimes I am so web savy other times I just want a magic button to make things happen) you would all get to see the very nekid men except for the gym tube sock and the thong panties (when men wear thongs I demand they be called panties). The men made some money, the thongs being a convenient place to hold the cash.

Pussy and I had a good time, although we were in bed by 1. I can’t blame Pussy, the jet lag coming that far is a beast and I was ready to beat my way out of where the gays live. I am so glad I had the chance to go out in my jeans and sneakers and drink. I am so out of practice, Pussy was teasing me about it.

Also, I know I’ve sucked with the writing, I know it lets people down (I’m looking at you Atizz) but there are points when I really have nothing to say or write. Hopefully with my super packed summer to come I will have “things to say.” Hang in there, I promise, things will get better.

So sorry to all the people who got here expecting porn. Maybe next time.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

I Know, I Know. I Suck.

I have a huge, and funny, and photo-full (real word what?) post just waiting to be written. It’s all in my head (that’s what the doctor said). Pussywillow was here and a’drinking we went. I played with the gays. Also I defended my gay from the masses. When I no longer suck (and my VERY sore throat goes away) I will write up about the time when Pussywillow came to town.

But for now, I read this in a comment on a forum regarding the Grey’s Anatomy finale: “Even William “Everybody Dies” Shakespeare had a clown or fool or jester in the tragedies. You need some comic relief.”

Word, dude, word.

Also, how badly do I want to have Sandra Oh’s ability to emote.