Monday, December 15, 2008


If you're looking for a disco party, you've come to the wrong place. Though I have been known to rock an afro and bust out The Hustle from time to time, I just haven't been feeling like my bad self lately. My groove thang does not want to shake, thank you very much.

I know that things are pretty bad when I start choosing to stay inside my apartment watching reruns of Wifeswap in my stretch pants. By the way, if you have never watched Wifeswap I highly recommend it. On last night's episode one wife asked the other wife "What if your son came to you one day and told you that he wanted to be a GAY GARBAGE MAN?!?!". I could think of worse hypthetical scenarios, myself. I think my response to that question is "Sweet! Take down the recycling and when you get back we can sing showtunes together!" What can I say? Despite the general malaise that has taken over my psyche, I am still an optimist!

I digress...I actually have no idea what exactly is causing me to feel like an emotional zombie lately. That's what is so frustrating about it! I just can't pinpoint the root of all this evil going on inside my head. I used to have a solution for this feeling. It involved drinking enough wine to kill a horse while bawling on the phone to anyone who was brave enough to answer and take on The Crazy. Usually it was my Mom. Nothing really phases her though. I am sure that I inherited the Fuck It Switch from her, in fact. I'll provide evidence in the form of an email she sent me today:

I was sending an email and I was including the smileys from smiley central. Saw this one and immediately thought of you. I know you will appreciate it. PS. Papa’s hip is broken.

I shit you not. The Smiley graphic was of a smiley wearing a scarf and beanie trying to pry his tongue of a frozen pole in the snow. Hilarious that not only did she think of me when she saw this graphic, but also that I would TOTALLY IDENTIFY! After all, I do tend to make poor, nonsensical decisions like licking a frozen pole all the time!Oh yeah! Papa's hip is broken too! Just thought I'd let ya know!

Jesus, I don't even know what to do with that piece of information. I have always struggled with feelings of guilt for living far away from my family and not feeling like an intregal part of "The Tribe". This is just icing on the cake. I am going home for Christmas so I will be able to spend some time with my ailing Grandfather, but I guess that I am afraid that this may very well be the last Christmas I have with him. Just sort of a bummer! I doubt there is a Smiley graphic for broken hips and broken hearts.

Despite all of this, I just have to remember that my life is really, really awesome. I live in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, I have two jobs that I absolutely love (most of the time!), my Grandpa and a lot of other family members that I love are still around to spend Holidays with, I have a gay room mate who takes out the garbage and listens to techno pop while he does it, and most of all, I have great friends to shake my groove thang with when the occasion calls for it.

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Thursday, December 04, 2008

The perils of online dating

When I was 18 years old, naive, and reeling from breaking up with my high school "sweetheart", I decided to hit the information super highway for love. I started chatting online with some righteous babes right away and quickly became addicted to the plethora of young available guys prowling the net. I spent countless evenings exchanging flirty banter, taking the perfect self portrait on my webcam, and then one fateful night I found him.

His screen name was Tahoebro78 and he was oh so dreamy. He regaled me with tales of road tripping across the U.S. following Phish tours and breaking his leg rock climbing.After chatting online with him for 2 days we set up a day to meet up and spent the remainder of that evening talking on the phone. I was smitten. I was ready to meet my future husband.

I had never been on a blind date before and I was so nervous that I spent the entire day changing my outfit, curling and re-curling my hair. At 6:00 I finally had chosen the perfect outfit. A cotton candy pink zip up sweater, light blue flare bottom jeans, and white and pink converse. I sprayed myself down for the 50th time with Tommy Girl Perfume and hid in my room until the door bell rang at 6:15. I answered the door and there he was. Every bit as gorgeous as I had pictured in my mind. He was sweet and boyish with thick chin length blond hair tucked behind his ears and wore a thrift store sweater and corduroy pants. We exchanged an awkward hug and I am positive that I giggled some nonsense about leaving before he had to meet my Dad.

I don't remember what we talked about on the ride over to the game park where we were to race go-carts, but the conversation went smooth and easy like the green hit off a freshly packed water bong. We laughed together and sang along to the soundtrack of The Grateful Dead playing on the cassette player that sat between us on the center console of his shiny Super Wagoneer.

As we pulled into the parking lot he playfully mentioned that he was actually quite competitive and I had better prepare myself to be left in the dust. Little did I know that in mere moments I would be eating his words.

Being the perfect gentleman that he had turned out to be, he told me to wait in the car so that he could come around and open the door for me. He grabbed my hand and kissed me on the cheek as I hopped out into the giant gravel parking lot of the game park. We linked hands and began to walk up to the entrance when he turned to me and asked...

"Wanna race?"

He could have asked me if I wanted to do The Worm over hot coals and I would have acquiesced if it meant he would fall in love with me.

Since it had been a good 10 years since I had last sprinted full throttle I thought that this very moment was as good as any to take it up again. I looked into his dreamy blue eyes and accepted his challenge. Before the words could leave my lips he was in a full on sprint with a good 5 yard lead. I took off behind him doing my best to keep up. My mind was racing along with my legs and I'm thinking:You know, this is kind of ridiculous. What kind of guy challenges his date to a race? He's totally kicking my ass too. Oh my god...I hope I don't have pit stains after this.

Pit stains would be the least of my worries. As my body careened onward I could feel the weight of my shoulders pulling me down. Picture a duck with its wings tucked back, gaining speed, neck craned out into the universe, propelling itself faster and faster before it's grand ascendance. That was me, but there would be no grand ascendance into the horizon.

Fortunately, Mr. Granola was so far ahead of me he had no idea that there was such a spectacle going on behind him. Feeling a bit of relief that he was completely oblivious to me, I began to recover my stride when the unthinkable occurred. I could feel my pristine white and pink Converse One-Star make it's great escape from my right foot. There was nothing I could do to compete with the force of my body's increasing speed in conjunction with the betrayal of my footwear.

I was going DOWN.

I slid into the asphalt like it was a Slip n' Slide. The all too familiar sting of gravel infiltrating my palms brought me back to my childhood, and that really isn't ever a fun place for my mind to wander. It took me a moment to collect my thoughts and take inventory of what had just transpired. When I gathered the courage to look up, Mr. Granola was charging up the steps doing his best Rocky Balboa impersonation. He looked behind him as he reached the top of the steps, arms still pumping in the air when the Security Guard tapped him on the shoulder and pointed across the vast parking lot at me. I was still on the ground waiting for the universe to do me a solid and swallow me whole.

Mr. Granola rushed back over and peeled me up from the pavement and hugged me. It was then that I looked down and noticed that my clothing was streaked with asphalt and my jeans were ripped at the knee exposing a gnarly glistening strawberry. I looked like I had just been run over by an 18 wheeler. Attractive look for a first date, no?

In retrospect, I question his chivalry because he didn't offer to drive me back home to change. I'm a trooper though and I made a weak joke about how he would look after I kicked his as on the go-cart track. He ended up pummeling me in that department as well. So much for a pity win! Competitive indeed, no lie.

So I suppose at this point, you may be wondering what came to be of Mr. Granola and me. Well, let's just say that it all ended in a park very late at night after copious amounts of weed had been spliffed and a promise that I wouldn't get any diseases from allowing him to fondle my nether regions.

There are some real charmers wandering around the internetz.

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