Posts Tagged ‘random musings’

The weirdness that is

Thursday, February 4th, 2010

There’s so many options to waste time.

Her old nose was thicker, but with the new one, maybe a little bit. But not really. I don't know. I have no perspective.

Let me count the ways…

At the moment, there’s a stupid Facebook thing going around where you’re supposed to go to and do a search on your first name and then post it as your status.

There’s also one where you’re supposed to change your profile picture to your ‘celebrity doppleganger.’ but I don’t have one. Once in a blue moon someone says I look like Jennifer Aniston, but I don’t see it. She has a lot more chin than I do.

Anyway, normally I don’t do any of that stuff, and my status pulls from Twitter, but I decided to look it up just to see. And blow me down, if names were a beauty contest, I’m taking first prize.

I had no idea people were out there defining names on as if they were blanket truths (or words to be defined), but take a gander:


1. A moderately common name for an American female; pretty; hot; beautiful; perfect; cutest girl you’ll ever see; angel

2. As stated in other definitions of vanessa she is always known as being cute, and is the basic definition of perfection. she is the most beautiful girl in the world, and is perfect in every single way. people associated with the name vanessa are usually attracted to large wooden clocks.
vanessa is beautful and perfect

***What? Clocks? Large wooden clocks? What the hell does that mean? Does that mean people associated with me have the clock fetish or that I’m supposed to? (Must pay more attention to wooden clocks moving forward…)***

3. Means Butterfly in greek

***Actually, it doesn’t. In ancient Greek “psyche” was the word for butterfly, but now it’s petalou’da.***

When I was a little girl, people would always ask me if I was named after Vanessa Redgrave. I had no idea who Vanessa Redgrave was, but I would always say "Yes" because it seemed easier that way.

4. The hottest chick on EARTH, damnn you know that ANYONE named Vanessa is the hottest chick you will ever see. Anyone named Vanessa is hottest than the damn sun itself.

BOY1: yeah I’m hanging out with vanessa today.
BOY2: her name?
BOY1: yeah dude why?

5. A beautiful girl.
Loves music, hanging out with her friends, and eating.
Very friendly, sexy, and stylish.
The one best friend everyone wants.
The one girl every guy wants.
Shes tough so dont mess around with her.
Shes the most special girl in the world.

I want to meet my perfect Vanessa.

***This is uncanny. Has someone been following me around???***

6. Cute, beautiful, Visionary, Amazing, Neat, Amusing

Vanessa, You’re the only Vanessa in my world.

7. Smart, Funny, Charming, Caring, Responsible, Beautiful, Gorgeous Eyes that would be so easy to get lost in, yet you would never care, so lost yet held there so happy so content, and a smile that lights up a room and makes your heart pound. A rare combination, someone beautiful inside as well as outside.

Vanessa is an amazing person.

***On second thought, all this is a bit much. I’m starting to get creeped out. Why on earth have so many people written these wackadoo “definitions” for the name Vanessa? Weren’t the first five more than enough?***

8. Invented by Jonathan Swift as a nickname for his lady friend Esther Vanhougan.

That is pretty cute.

9. The most amazing types of people. Always makes a best friend and never lets you down. Loves green tea and tea tree and has the most amazing lime coconut cookies :) Super pretty and loves Simba :P Shares an interest in Disney movies with Avonlee. The most amazing type of person in the world and everyone who knows a Vanessa is very lucky <3

***Simba like The Lion King? Obviously this one was written by a ten-year old. But it’s still spot-on in many ways…***

Just so you don’t think it’s all about me (although it mostly is), here’s the definition for my very best friend.


1. Marijuana, Weed, Herb, Mary Jane, Reefer, Grass, Dope, Green, Green Wood.

Smoking marijuana tends to get some people sleepy, in other words some people “doze” off.

-That dozer we smoked knocked me out

-Yall niggas think I’m trippin cuz I’m on dat dozer -Master P

He is a serious dope.

I had no idea.

2. A person who toils mindlessly at the same mundane endeavors as their forefathers without ever seeking to alter their course or advance their processes in anyway. (from HBO’s Fraggle Rock, Dozers perpetually built and rebuilt structures for the Fraggles to devour)

The dozers can’t seem to grasp the idea because it wasn’t listed in the manual.

Tee hee. It’s funny because it’s true. And it explains the random girl in the street who once gushed on about Fraggle Rock. We didn’t have HBO when I was a kid.

3. A Bulldozer

In other news, I’ve become obsessed with VH1′s Celebrity Rehab Season Three (and those of you watching know what I’m talking about – Dennis Rodman! Heidi Fleiss and Tom Sizemore AND they used to be in love and she got him on meth and he ultimately betrayed her!!! Mackenzie Phillips!!!!!), and when I was told that Leif Garrett (who I had to Google to figure out who that was. Whatever. Before my time.) was arrested for heroin possession, my very first thought was, ‘Yay! He can go on the next Celebrity Rehab!”

EXHIBIT A: Dennis Rodman.

I also have a huge crush on Dr. Drew. I don’t even have addiction problems, but I would like to check into the Pasadena Recovery Center and tell Dr. Drew all my sad stories and have him affirm that he is witnessing my pain right now and make it all better.

But I digress…

What I wanted to say is that I discovered you can watch complete episodes of Celebrity Rehab on VH1′s website and there was a still shot of Dennis Rodman on the screen, and I had a sudden epiphany: Dennis Rodman looks exactly like Mrs. Potato Head.

Seriously, give him a little red purse and slap a daisy on his wrist, and it’s doppleganger time.

EXHIBIT B: Mrs. Potato Head. (The defense rests.)

Dennis, if you’re out there and you have a Facebook account, feel free to update your profile picture accordingly.

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Oh! The things you’ll learn!

Monday, January 11th, 2010

I don’t know how I found this, but my ADHD is your gain.

So according to something I was for some now-forgotten reason (I think maybe it had to do with ferrets attacking human babies?) reading in Wikipedia: “In 2008, new research revealed that people with blue eyes have a single common ancestor. The authors concluded that the mutation may have arisen in a single individual in the Near East or around the Black Sea region 6,000-10,000 years ago during the Neolithic revolution. Scientists tracked down a genetic mutation that leads to blue eyes. ‘Originally, we all had brown eyes,’ said Hans Eiberg from the Department of Cellular and Molecular Medicine at the  University of Copenhagen. ‘A genetic mutation affecting the OCA2 gene in our chromosomes resulted in the creation of a ‘switch,’ which literally ‘turned off’ the ability to produce brown eyes.’”

Greetings all blue-eyed (distant, many of you) relatives!

That first blue eyed guy must’ve really freaked some people out. I have to imagine that back in the day something like that could lead to false idol worship or at least the gifting of a nice hut on the Black Sea.

That would be like some modern-day child being born with yellow cat eyes, all reflective and stuff. You know that would be all over CNN within hours.

Meanwhile, if you’re a white supremacist, you’ll enjoy this little tidbit: “A 2002 study found that blue eyes have become increasingly rare among Americans, with only one out of every six – 16.6 percent (22.4% of white Americans) of the total United States population having blue eyes.”

Actually, if you’re a white supremacist that fact will upset you, but it will no doubt add fuel to your insane fire, so there’s that. At the same time, if nature arbitrarily made pale, blue-eyed people once, no doubt it will keep doing it randomly despite the genetics or dark hair/skin/eyes of the parents…just maybe not as much as Hitler might have liked.

By the way, eye color has to do with melanin (the same stuff that determines your skin color.) Less melanin produces green, grey, hazel, or light brown eyes. Eyes with very little melanin appear blue.

Can you imagine the wake where this nightmare is featured?

In other completely unrelated news, if you love KISS®, you might be excited to learn about the option to be buried in the official KISS® Kasket, perfect for the die-hard KISS® fan…who has died.

Nobody puts it better than Gene Simmons, “”This is the ultimate KISS® collectible, ” Gene allegedly said. “I love livin’, but this makes the alternative look pretty damn good.”

That makes me laugh every time I read it. It’s so stupid, it’s rather hilarious.

Please note, I, for one, have no interest in being buried in a KISS® Kasket. Now a Hello Kitty casket (It must exist. Right???)? That’s another story…

These guys scared the hell out of me as a little girl.

So does “KISS®” stand for something?
Is that why it’s in all capital letters?
Keeping It Somewhat Screwy?

Keep it Simple Stupid?

Kooks In Strange Subterfuge?

Anyway, in order to provide a perfect trifecta of uselessness, I thought I’d do a solid for any paranoiacs in the house.

It seems that some years ago an editor at The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists used wind data and a list of probable targets to calculate that Tierra del Fuego would be the last place on earth to be affected by radioactive fallout.

How’s that for ironic? Your best bet for toughing out the end of the world is in the land of fire, otherwise known as a rockpile off the southern tip of South America. Bring your polar fleece and down jackets. I haven’t been there (yet), but anyplace that close Antarctica can’t be warm.

Ushuaia, Argentina. Not a bad-looking place to wait out the end of the world...

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If I had a million dollars…

Monday, November 23rd, 2009

I’d buy your love.

I would.

I might.

Okay, you got me.
I wouldn’t.

I’d quite possibly buy a lot of stuff and most of it I wouldn’t need, but I’d probably take my queues from the super-rich Beatles (as in ‘Can’t Buy Me’ more than ‘All You Need Is’) over the probably-barely-getting-by-anymore Barenaked Ladies and forgo the love buying.

Meanwhile, I must confess that I feel bedraggled and borderline ill. I’m mainlining zinc and  considering another dance with the devil (AmbienCT, which made me puke about ten days ago) in order to get some much needed – if not necessary – zzzzs.

In the meantime, and in the spirit of compensating for over two weeks of doing for others, I spent the day indulging in three of my favorite, pointless activities:

1. Reading cookbooks

2. Watching old episodes of Tony Bourdain’s No Reservations

3. Window shopping online

And the critical word there is WINDOW because I’m not exactly financially solvent at the moment and because I spent two entire days purging a colossal amount of stuff from my closet…and it’s still brimming with a veritable shit load of stuff. Beloved stuff. Precious stuff. Cute stuff. Stuff I love. Stuff I (obviously) can’t part with. And yet the love of new stuff surfaces in the face of so much stuff…

On the surface you might think I’d make a really bad Buddhist, but that’s not the case. Nope. One can love their stuff so long as they maintain awareness that the stuff (both the stuff I have and the stuff I do not have, but would like to have) and I are one. Loving my stuff is self-love.

Allow me to make this a little bit more confusing:

In Buddhism, non-attachment (the ideal state) is the exact opposite of separation. To have attachment, you need two things:

  1. The person who attaches
  2. The thing the person attaches to.

In non-attachment, you’ve unified with the whole universe. There is nothing outside of you. Thus, there’s nothing to attach to and the notion of attachment becomes absurd.

However, because as a species we tend to believe that we are having an autonomous and intrinsic existence within our skin, and what’s outside our bodies is “everything else,” most of us go through life grabbing for one thing after another in an effort to be safe or feel happy.

And the rub there is that we ‘pursue’ happiness because we think it is an external quality, something that lies outside ourselves. And because we think it is ‘out there’ or external, we stress and worry about gaining it…and losing it. Whatever can be found can also be lost.

Which is, in the end, a long-winded way of saying that I am one with the items for sale at Urban and thus looking at them and owning none of them brings me the same level of pleasure as owning them. Although, admittedly, if I had a million dollars, I would own a few of them.

Like this skirt:


And this wallet:


And this jacket:


And this jewelry holder stacked doll chairs thingamabob:


And this sweater:


But in a totally non-attached way…


Honest injun.

Cross my heart and hope to die.

I can’t get this to format how I want, so sorry about that. Sometimes (more often than not), WordPress mystifies me.

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Freaky looking dudes on whom I have crushes

Friday, October 16th, 2009

For those of you out there who aren’t exactly George Clooney, have no fear. There are women who don’t care all that much about that kind of stuff. And I happen to be one of them. Thus, I assume that extrapolating my opinions and making a blanket statement like that is true. Hopefully, for your sake – if you do happen to be a freaky looking dude – it is.

I have had more than one boyfriend refer to us as “Beauty and the Beast” and although, in my recollection, it was not that severe, I am of the belief that who a person is is a hell of a lot more than the package he/she/I comes in. Admittedly, I take pretty good care of my package, but at the end of the day, I strive to have the sum far outweigh the parts.

True, I have a crush on George Clooney – and it is to a large degree because of his looks. However, it’s mostly because he seems to have a good sense of humor and to be, minus the womanizing, a cool guy. Actually, the womanizing would scare the crap out of me in real life, but I don’t know him and this is not ‘real life’ so it’s a moot point.

I can't quite fathom the logic that says "I would rather wear this ratty thing on my head than be bald."

I can't quite fathom the logic that says "I would rather wear this ratty thing on my head than be bald."

Anywho, the inspiration for today’s pointless rambling is that I ran across some article criticizing the latest gorgeous girl dating Adam Duritz of the Counting Crows, and despite the fact that he basically looks like a pudgy, middle aged Jewish guy (especially when you factor in the reality that his hair is a piece. He’s bald, which I personally think would be preferable to the horrific Sideshow Bob wig he prefers…) Nevertheless, I totally get it.

No, he ain’t no beauty queen, but since when does that last anyway? We all get older, and if that’s all you had going for you…then good freaking luck, boring unfunny person with nobody to dance with at the nursing home prom.

On the bright side, it’s never too late!

Go read some books and get a hobby and work on developing a personality tout de suite! Maybe something involving cooking or learning to fix broken toilets?

Back to Adam, the other reality is that he is responsible for what is probably my most favorite song of all time, and that goes a long damn way in my way book.

This is (obviously) not an official video, but it’s by far the least offensive out there. Jose, you can tell us if it’s been translated appropriately.

The worst award went to a young woman with a ton of large piercings and pretty much a close up on her face the whole time.

Not so much.

robinson_sandison500_18241tMoving on, in the next corner we have another musician, The Black Crowes’ Chris Robinson. He’s seen better days – and the business end of a bong a few too many hundred thousand times – but he’s still incredibly cool and such an amazing performer. I’ve had the great good luck to see them live three or four times…and each time my crush is intensified. I think it  has something to do with the way he moves.

And of course his voice.

And the fact that they pretty much never chatter, just jam.

I don’t know what he’d look like under that Chewbacca beard – and it probably ain’t pretty – but the kid he had with Kate Hudson is cute enough, so you never know? Actually, if you go back to the early days of the Crowes, you can catch a glimpse of a young, beardless Chris…but the camera never really pans in and focuses, and there was probably a good reason for that.

I’d also like to make a quick note of gratitude that he’s no longer dressing like a fancy pirate. Good move, Chris.

I love this song. The first time I ever heard it was in Liverpool, played for me by a man who said it reminded him of me.

I can’t argue with the talking to angels part (although I think of them more as guides and had said no such thing to him in that regard), and I certainly am not above telling you I’m an orphan even if you’ve already met my mother. It’s all relative…   (No pun intended.)  On the other hand, I’ve never shot up or whatever sad issue the subject of this tune seems to struggle with. Thankfully.

53179177XX036_Comedy_CentraIn conclusion, rounding out my trifecta of freaky looking dudes on whom I have crushes, is Dave Attell. Dave used to have this show called “Dave Attell Insomniac” where he would stay up all night (duh) and hang out with people who had night shift jobs and crack jokes and generally be spontaneously hilarious.

I couldn’t find a YouTube clip of the time he hung out in a waste treatment plant in Boston, so you’ll have to settle for some standup, posted below.

And in other news…


Is it me, or do these guys all bear a strange resemblance to one another? Like they’re all cousins or something? Or members of the same synagogue?

I think it’s a coincidence, but just to be sure, I may go ahead and end this now and find a so-so looking blond guy to crush on. Suggestions welcome.

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Rainbows and unicorns

Thursday, October 15th, 2009

Actually, I have nothing to say on the subject of rainbows and unicorns, it just sounded like a perfectly awful (and slightly terrifying) title. Unicorns are a’ight. I’ve never seen one, but if I did I think I would be worried it would gore me. I recently saw a photo where a rainbow ends right on top of an SUV. It would seem the pot of gold comes in many forms…

Me at seven months old. I think I was playing peek-a-boo. And I was damn good at it. Or so I've been told.

Me at seven months old. I think I was playing peek-a-boo. And I was damn good at it. Or so I've been told.

So without any proper intro, let’s get down to business and check out this little photo montage I lovingly prepared for you. And believe me, although I didn’t manage to get a post up in a timely manner, I invested time as if I had. There’s no need to rehash the hairy details; sufficed to say: Leopard, dammit, HP scanner, restart, 2004, ^$%%@!!!, even more drivers, eventual success.

At any rate, and as you can see (unless you are in blind, and in which case, how are you reading this? Probably text to speech. Okay, ignore that question. I figured it out myself.) I have put together a little “this is my life” for you based on some photos I found in the garage last month while searching for a tape player. Actually, and more accurately, it’s “this is the first ten years of my life” but I really don’t appreciate you taking everything so literally. Yeah. I said it. I’ve had about enough of your guff. Keep it to yourself, pal.

So, let’s see. What’s been going on?

From the size of my brother, I'd say I'm about 2 1/2 in this one. And no, I wasn't one of those genius babies that could read, I just had an early start on being a poseur.

From the size of my brother, I'd say I'm about 2 1/2 in this one. And no, I wasn't one of those genius babies that could read, I just had an early start on faking it until you make it.

First, as you probably know, I got a year older. That’s right. Despite my attempts to resist the march of time, time marched over me. What can I say? Time is a relentless bastard, and there’s just no reasoning with him. Believe me, I’ve tried.

In celebration of yet another candle on the cake, I had a low-key day that was pretty much like every other day: editing, going for a run, voodoo ceremony, more editing, goofing around on the internets, animal sacrifice, and some pizza with friends. In all actuality, my cake had four candles for some bad math/unknown reason (I think the explanation given was that it looked proportionate), and I successfully blew them all out.  (!!!)

I can’t reveal my wish, lest it not come true, but sufficed to say, someone living in a beach house in Kauai is going to start feeling strangely compelled to sign it over to me any day now…

Me at probably my fifth birthday. I actually remember that cake. My mom's friend made it.

Me (the ham. The only one paying attention to the camera) at probably my fifth birthday. I actually remember that cake. My mom's friend made it.

In other news, I filed a petition to enact the Modified Benjamin Button Effect. As we all know, I’ve been fighting the ravages of time pretty damn well (thank you god of looking younger than you are), but in another twenty years, I may not be quite as hot. Make no mistake, I’ll still turn some heads at the nursing home, but I also don’t want to be Cher. You know, 63 but carrying on like you’re 25. It lacks dignity.

That’s why I think the best plan is to get to 50, and then let the clock start running backwards. I have to imagine one’s 40′s are a lot more fun when you know your 30′s and 20′s lie ahead.

Nobody gets hurt, and I’m happy.

If you ask me, it’s win/win.

Now, I never saw that movie, but I know enough to know that what I’ve laid out isn’t QUITE the Benjamin Button effect. You’re supposed to start out old and get young, but seeing as I (obviously) didn’t start out old, I’m hoping for a pass on that small detail.

The Halloween of my 10th year (with my brother). My mother was the queen of improvising costumes out of nothing - with mixed success. That year I was wearing some old dress of hers, and she did that for my brother out of several rolls of gauze. Perhaps I could talk him into a reprisal next year?

The Halloween of my 10th year (with my brother). My mother was the queen of improvising costumes out of nothing - with mixed success. Thank god I grew into my 'man hands.' What the hell was going on there????

Anyway, I haven’t heard back on my petition yet (bureaucracies. There’s so much red tape), but I’m hopeful. Plus, I’ve got a solid thirteen years until the backwards clock starts, so I’m not going to stress it too much just yet.

In conclusion, and in case you were wondering, I included these photos for you so you’d recognize me in the future. Assuming things go according to plan, this is how I plan to look during my ‘golden years.’


Thanks so much for all the birthday wishes on the last blog post! It’s really a cool thing to think I type up this nonsense and multiple someones somewhere actually read it. You guys are the best!!!!

(Even if your first name is Frothy. It’s not your fault. Obviously it’s a family name or your mother was very young and not really thinking it through…)

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