Posts Tagged ‘random sh*t floating around in my head’

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 Outfitters.com 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:

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And this wallet:

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And this jacket:

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And this jewelry holder stacked doll chairs thingamabob:

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And this sweater:

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But in a totally non-attached way…

Really.

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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Coming soon to an airport near you!

Friday, November 20th, 2009

Completely superfluous and unnecessary processes dreamed up by the United States Transportation Security Administration (TSA) in order to make themselves appear useful and/or alleviate job boredom!

There must be a rule that you have to be a certain amount overweight (and love beer) to qualify.

There must be a rule that you have to be a certain amount overweight (and love beer) to qualify.

(And guess which one is actually real!)

  • Driver’s license height/weight honesty evaluation – Because if you’re willing to deceive the DMV you fat, lying, 5’4” bastard, who knows what else you’re hiding?
  • Carry-on luggage overhead military press - If you can’t bench press it, we clearly need to examine every single article inside it. Look! A shiny ball!
  • Sbarro pizza slice poison prevention taste test – We’re only looking out for your safety. Sbarro poisoning is the 137th leading cause of airport death.
  • Ass width measurement - Because there’s nothing worse than getting on board and realizing you don’t actually fit, you fat, lying, 5’4” bastard. (In order to prevent claims of discrimination, you’ll find the TSA agents may also measure those with backsides that might be described as a shapely or slender or small or fine. Just doing our job.)
  • Water vapor testing strip administration – because one mutinous vapor can take down a whole plane
  • Palm reading – You may not know you’re a terrorist, but your life line and that mole on your index finger don’t lie.
  • Pop quizzes – “How much cash is in your wallet?” “Have you ever been to Dubuque? How about a rest stop in the state of Arkansas?” “What’s’ a four-letter word for light blue?”
  • “Promptly chug-a-lug that Starbucks in your hand, sir” bladder density tests. Because nobody likes a wet seat, whether drenched with coffee or…other stuff.
  • Pull my finger – It’s amazing what we can get people to do just because we’re wearing cheap, polyester government-issued uniforms!

Seriously though, the vapor strip thing is ‘real.’ As I was walking up to the boarding gate at the Orlando airport last night, my ticket in my outstretched hand, a TSA administrator with a gigantic beer belly stretching the capacity of his button-down shirt to its very limits, appeared out of nowhere and asked to ‘test my water.’ At first I thought he was trying to pick me up and had really, really bad timing, but then I realized he was serious. So after confirming I heard him correctly, I screwed the lid off and watched as he waved a little white litmus strip over the top of the bottle like a magic wand. And absolutely nothing happened. And he declared my water – bought just three minutes earlier from the news stand fifteen feet behind us – a clean, clear, vaporless water-like substance.

This is the Total Recall image I mention below the picture at the bottom.

This is the Total Recall image I mention below the picture right below this one.

Thank god I hadn’t dumped it out and replaced the contents with vodka.

That would have been hard to explain.

Meanwhile, I bet I could make a killing importing those strips into Bermuda.

Those five-legged toads would make me want to test my rain water vapors, and what’s easier to read than a ‘no news is good news’ strip?

White means it’s all right!

I found this image on the TSA blog. It's apparently what they can see with those body scanner things. Remember that movie Total Recall? Wouldn't it be better if they did it like that? Or if not better, then less embarrassing?

I found this image on the TSA blog. It's apparently what they can see with those body scanner things. Remember that movie Total Recall? Wouldn't it be better if they did it like that? Or if not better, then less embarrassing?

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Who needs personal space anyway?

Tuesday, October 27th, 2009

It’s only 10pm, but damn am I tired.

I say *only* 10pm because of my new – temporary – lifestyle. I call it “run like the wind or until there is no more wind and you choke for a little while in a dramatic fashion before dropping dead” and it involves doing everything one would normally cram into a full day…plus editing (a.k.a. largely re-writing) two chapters – or 25+ pages – a day.

You may fancy yourself a superman and declare that quite doable, but trust me…it’s cruel and unusual.

However, despite the mental agony, I’m hanging in there and getting it done. This is week two of three, and it’s almost halfway through week two…so help me God.

It's hard to determine if he's doing this because he loves me or because he thinks he owns me. Or something nefarious in between.

It's hard to determine if he's doing this because he loves me or because he thinks he owns me. Or something nefarious in between.

And all this despite the fact that there’s a gigantic, furry 100-pound animal smashing himself up against my right (dominant) side and lying on my arm and his ear is twitching against my finger and basically he’s cramping my style literally and figuratively and physically and factually and objectively and in a way that is sweet but annoying.

What I’m trying to say here is that he’s cutting off circulation to the right side of my body, but I love him so I’m letting him do it.

Because that’s what love is.

Sucking it up even when your beloved is really, really, really irritating you.

Right?

That’s what love is?

Right???

But enough whining about the semi-domesticated mammal encroaching on my personal space. It’s time. It’s always time. And so once again it’s time to go back to editing…

See you on the New York Times Bestseller list! Next fall work for you?

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I should’ve worn flats

Sunday, October 25th, 2009

More than once in the last few years, a co-worker or customer would comment to me, “You’re really a tall girl,” and  I’ve always thought I could hear admiration in that statement. It could be my imagination.

It doesn’t really matter though, because the thing of it is, I’m not tall. I’m 5’6″ in bare feet, which is (in the US anyway) “average.” However, in my ubiquitous-at-the-time heels, I’m 5’9″ (give or take an inch).

I still own tons of high-heeled shoes, sandals, and boots. And, by and large, if I’m going out somewhere, I’ll usually wear them. This is a long-winded way of saying that last night I went to see Dave Attell perform, and I wore high-heeled boots.

This will become important later.

So anyway, I was super excited to see him, although I was a wee bit distressed by his abundance of early 20′s, highly inebriated, frat boy-type followers. I know they were there for the Jagermeister and sex jokes, but they’re still…well, not for me.

In fact, the lady who opened for Dave was probably in her late 30′s and recently divorced, and was mentioning that someone recently called her a ‘cougar’ and how incredibly insulting that is. She said, “What does a 40-year old woman want with a 19-year old guy anyway? Listen to him argue for hours about how Nickelback is the best band ever? Drive around all over town in his parent’s Ford Escort picking up his Accutane prescriptions?”

It’s funny because it’s true.

This summer I met a 38-year old (woman) living with a 22-year old (male) and she was so proud of this, and I am proud that I kept my mouth shut…because I was dying to go off in the manner that the comedian did in the paragraph above, except I probably would’ve mentioned Guitar Hero and Red Bull.

So I digress. I got to see Dave live, and he was great (although he has developed a worrisome smoker’s wheeze. I’ve been recently trained in hypnotherapy and can help you with that, Dave. Call me when you’re ready to quit…)  but that’s not the best part.

The best part was that I was included in the act!

So, he starts with this whole thing about “tell me what you’re drinking, and I’ll tell you how your night will end.”

And this woman yells out (in a gruff, long-haul trucker voice), “Whisky.” And he says, “Whoa! Whisky? I didn’t realize we had a young female DA here with us tonight. I tell you what, with whisky you will misinterpret and be insulted by everything everyone says to you. ‘Happy Birthday, Buddy!’ ‘F*ck you. I’ll have any kind of birthday I damn well please.’”

(And it’s so true. Jack Daniels and I go way back, but I’ve had to break it off. I get very unpredictable and occasionally volatile and – of course – unbearably wonderful, but who really needs the circus to come to town more than once a year?)

Me and Dave Attell

Me and Dave Attell. Notice youthful booze-addled buffoon types in background.

So anyway, you get the idea. Some of the idiot frat guys were throwing out (***yawn*** oh-so-predictable) drinks like Jagermeister, Rumplemintz, Schnapps, Cinnamon whisky (Too which Dave said, “I didn’t know Deadwood was on anymore), etc.

So he hits them all with one-liners, and then turns to my section (the far right) and says? “Let’s hear from the ladies!”

And here, to the best of my recollection (and I know I’m missing stuff, but it’s gone from my gray matter, so what are you gonna do?) is the transcript:

Me and seven other people: Noise

Dave: What? Gin?

Me: Gin!

Dave: That’s an old lady drink! You’re drinking Gin? Gin!?!? Gin is a drink that says you’ll head home from here to go spend a quiet evening with your 20 cats.

Someone yelled out a new drink, and he told that he wasn’t done talking to me.

Dave: That’s British. Gin. (Bad British accent), “I’ll have some gin…”  So let me guess, you Limey Lover: Do you have tonic with your gin?

***shaking head no***

Dave: No? No tonic? Just gin?

Me: (Not loudly enough) There were olives in it.

Dave: What’s that, honey?

Me: THERE WERE OLIVES IN IT.

Dave: Olives? Oh! You had it in a fancy glass. You had a gin martini! A martini with olives. That’s a classy drink. A classy drink for a classy lady.

And for a brief moment, I thought I had escaped ridicule, but then then (and I’m paraphrasing here) he suggested something about me ending my night being talked into snorting Ativan off a male….er…member.

But as it happens, he was wrong.

It was Xanax.

p.s.

As you can see in the photo, Dave is not tall. I am very sensitive to the sensitivity (and lesser paycheck when compared to their taller peers) of the vertically challenged man, and that’s kind of all I was saying…  If I had worn flats, he probably would’ve had an inch or two on me and – for just a moment – felt tall.

And I would’ve done that for him. Because I’m nice like that.

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p.s. Freaky looking dude post script

Saturday, October 17th, 2009

Last night while in the shower I remembered #4.

He's very pale and there's no beard in sight. Technically, he's kind of unattractive, but he's funny and an amazing chef, and if you ask me, that more than compensates.

He's very pale and there's no beard in sight. Technically, he's kind of unattractive, but he's funny and an amazing chef, and if you ask me, that more than compensates.

Wylie Dufrense.

If his name isn’t enough to convince you he ain’t easy on the eyes, here’s a photo.

He’s the chef/owner of WD-50 in Manhattan and a disciple of Catalan chef/god Ferran Adria (if I could’ve, I would’ve structured my whole trip last year around eating at El Bulli…until I learned that two million people request a table every year and seven thousand actually get one. Ahem…) and a leading proponent molecular gastronomy.

Anyway, his food is really bizarre and scientific and yet somehow sublime (or so I’ve heard and somehow it seems from the cooking shows on which I’ve seen him. I’ve never quite eaten at WD-50…yet.), and he’s very funny (big with me), and there you go.

And – in my defense – he does not look like a rabbi.

And for that, me and my psyche are grateful.

Largely unrelated, but taken tonight (if that counts for anything.) Me looking a little bit Ice Capades and holding the iPod touch I won from the Googlewaveblogger.com. Yay!!!

Completely unrelated: Me looking like an escaped member of the 'Ice Capades' and holding the iPod touch I just won from the Googlewaveblogger.com. I love it!!!

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